


On the Borderline

by IronShieldGal



Series: Connor & Friends; Hilarious Antics & Serious Business [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Also I've decided all androids are Asexual, Also a bit of feels, Because Carl is totally okay now due to the magic of Markus, Carl Manfred Is Not Your Therapist, Connor is emotionally confused, Good Dads! Hank and Carl, Hank is emotionally constipated, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post good ending, Slow burn Markus/Connor, Sumo is a good dog, Swearing, Tags to be added, because Hank talking about Cole, because hank, but he will listen to your troubles and advise you anyway, but sex is for humans no thanks, discussions of christianity written by someone who doesn't know shit about it, emotions are difficult, no beta we die like men, not Aromantic because dates and kisses are nice and cool, not the focus of the story - Freeform, sorry if I offended you i didn't mean to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronShieldGal/pseuds/IronShieldGal
Summary: In which Connor tries to figure out all the feelings, Hank is totally The Worst (tm) at helping with feelings, Carl is just the best, and Markus tries to teach Connor that it's okay to feel things even if you don't understand what those things are. (he is only moderately successful because Connor is and will remain forever a curious bugger)Confusion is the only emotion he can accurately pick out, out of the swirling ball of so many emotions that he doesn't know, and somewhere he regrets choosing to be deviant. He doesn't like this, emotions are not fun, and suddenly mindboggling facts he's learnt over the past few months make a lot more sense.Human suicide rates. Human wars -so many of them. Racism, prejudice, drama in human relationships, friendly, familial or romantic, depression, anxiety disorders, distrust hatred jealousy bullying, every negative thing he's ever learnt about human interaction and history suddenly makes sense because with so many emotions boiling inside how can anyone make a rational decision?





	1. Emotion one: Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lrzY-iplLE  
> On the Borderline by Thomas Sanders.  
> "I'm standing on the borderline, what should I bring or leave behind?"

**Friday November 12 th, 2038. 7:34 AM. **

Playing a massive part in a revolution and potentially winning freedom for an entire species - _his_ species- was great and all, but all Connor wants in this exact moment is the comfort of familiarity: Hank. He has only known the Lieutenant for exactly one week now, they met on the Friday the fifth and today was officially Friday the 12 th, but that short while was a large part of his existing life span up until now, counting in total two months, one week and three days, so after a careful weighing of the facts he decided it is ok that Hank is the most important person in his life.

 He wouldn’t ask for the same in return; Hank had lived for long years, and had known the people in his life for longer than Connor has existed, so Connor wouldn’t be the center of his existence like Hank is for Connor.

 Hank is at the core of his deviancy.

Connor, RK800, was designed as the first investigating android meant to support law enforcement, but he is a prototype in more ways than one. For him to be successful as law enforcement more so than the other police type androids, he had to be granted more freedom. For one, he doesn’t have to listen to every officer he meets, or every human for that matter. His code and protocols dictated that he listen only to Amanda and, through her, the people at CyberLife who gave him instructions, but unlike any other android model he doesn’t -didn’t- have any trouble ignoring orders of ordinary officers of people. He also doesn’t have the protocols that dictate he isn’t allowed to hurt humans in any scenario. If he is chasing a human criminal -which is a scene CyberLife factored into his coding, even if he was meant solely for hunting Deviants- he shouldn’t be limited by protocols like that.

 Connor has also been given more of a learning stimulation in his code: All android models could be taught things, could learn their owner’s preferences and rules to remember those, but none of them had chance for so-called character development. Mostly, this was because androids were not supposed to have a personality.

Connor wonders if that’s why he’s having more trouble with his deviancy than other androids: he was programmed to have a personality, and they weren’t. How is he supposed to know who he really is? Does he abide by his coding and be content with who CyberLife dictated him to be? And if he’s not, how does he work around the most basic lines of his code to change his entire personality?

 His thoughts stutter, and his steps falter along with it. He doesn’t want to think about that alone, he doesn’t want to delve this deep into his deviancy yet, into what it means, before he fully understands how it came to be.

 He was supposed to learn, to develop his personality. He was given a few core treats; he was supposed to be likable, smart, confident, eager to please and quick to asses situations and make decisions. He was supposed to be adaptable to work best with whatever law enforcement he had to work with.

 So, obviously, most of his character development over the past week has mostly been influenced by the Lieutenant, as were most of his choices. Sparing the Traci’s, sparing Chloe, letting Rupert escape so he could save Hank, even becoming a deviant himself were all choices inspired by the thought _what choice would Hank most approve off_. Amanda hadn’t liked it, but he was lucky he got away with his software instability for so long; it was written off as his programming adapting to the Lieutenant, which it was, but it also was more than that.

 So, in short, he is deviant now, and he wouldn’t be without the Lieutenant, and he feels alone and confused and there is no one he would rather figure these feelings out with than the person who had inspired them.

 Snow crunches under his feet as he walks away from Jericho, away from Markus and his friends, away from the celebrating and the sideways looks from androids who still didn’t quite trust him, which, could he blame them? Yes, it was his programming forcing him to chase deviants, and him finding Jericho had gotten hundreds of androids killed, but before they escaped their programming they were as stuck as he had been. He can rationally tell himself that their distrust makes sense, that just because Markus forgave him and trusts him now doesn’t mean that everyone will, but there is something bubbling right underneath his synthetic skin that makes him uncomfortable. The feeling he gets when he’s investigating a crime scene where the deviant might still be present, the feeling he gets when Gavin Reed is looking at him. The feeling of looming danger.

 He realizes he’s clenched his fingers into a fist and forces the digits to spread out, to stretch and hang stiffly at his sides.

 Emotions are overwhelming, confusing, irrational. There are so many, all leaping through each other in his head, mixing together in his chest, making his thirium pump beat faster, like an anxious human has an elevated heartbeat, and for some reason he feels the urge, the _need_ to curl up somewhere, to hug his knees to his chest, to pull his own hair and to cry.

 Why would he feel like that, what emotion is this? Why would he cry, why would he hide from the world, what problems would that solve?

 Confusion is the only emotion he can accurately pick out, out of the swirling ball of so many emotions that he doesn’t know, and somewhere he regrets choosing to be deviant. He doesn’t like this, emotions are not fun, and suddenly mindboggling facts he’s learnt over the past few months make a lot more sense.

 Human suicide rates. Human wars -so many of them. Racism, prejudice, drama in human relationships, friendly, familial or romantic, depression, anxiety disorders, distrust hatred jealousy bullying, every negative thing he’s ever learnt about human interaction and history suddenly makes sense because with so many emotions boiling inside how can anyone make a rational decision?

 He’s not far from the Chicken Feed, where Hank had told him to go after, and Connor quotes directly, “this whole fucking revolution thing is over, yeah,” so, despite it being 7:36 AM, and it being very early and the probability of Hank being out of bed is small, Connor is on his way to the food stand.

 The sun is coming up in front of him, just peeking out from above the bridge in the distance when Connor rounds the corner.

There, a silhouette against the bright morning sun stands a man, shoulders curled inwards and hands shoved in his coat pockets. He’s looking around like he’s waiting for someone.

 Snow crunches under Connor’s feet and Hank turns around, looking at him. Connor stands still a few feet away from his only friend.

 Doubts run through his mind. What if Hank wants nothing to do with him anymore? What if the scene at CyberLife made him decide that being friends with Connor was too dangerous or complicated? What if he fell back on his android hatred? What if he just hates Connor? What if…

 Connor’s systems can’t finish the thought before Hank smiles at him. Relief floods his system, for a few seconds damping all other emotional turmoil, and Connor smiles back.

 Hank starts walking towards him, and what is he going to do? Connor tries to anticipate his movements so he can reciprocate, but he does not expect the hand on the back of his neck, tugging him closer, pulling his body against the Lieutenants, his head on top of the mans shoulder, and arms strongly around his back.

 Connor doesn’t hesitate and hugs Hank back. He closes his eyes, and feels all emotional doubt leave him like water leaves a bathtub after the plug has been pulled, leaving behind only contentment and a warmth he associates with friendship.


	2. Joy -part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> joy  
> noun  
> 1\. the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation:
> 
> 2\. a source or cause of keen pleasure or delight; something or someone greatly valued or appreciated:
> 
> 3\. the expression or display of glad feeling; festive gaiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I intended this to be like three times as long -Joy is supposed to last all the way until Sunday, but I had this finished and I wanted to post something, so I'll just break it up.
> 
> Also, the tags and story summary have changed because I figured out what direction I'm going with this. If there's new stuff you're not into, then be warned :D

# Emotion two: Joy

_Friday, November 12 th, 2038 8:03 AM_

 

Hank takes him back to his home, which Connor is silently grateful for -at least, he supposes this is what gratitude feels like: a light feeling in his chest and shoulders, like a burden has been lifted- because his only place to call home was at CyberLife, and he thinks he doesn’t want to go back there anytime soon. It was just a small box of space, no room for personal trinkets -which was reasonable, since he didn’t have any need of those back then, doesn’t  need them now really, but something about the pale, empty room only filled with some equipment for software and hardware maintenance appalls him, now. He longs for Hank’s house, with stuff littered all around the house, dog hairs on all the furniture, the soft sound of the television and  the before deemed useless trinkets cluttered on every available surface.   
The door opens to a large dog lying on the welcome mat. He looks up, cranes his neck and lets out a woof, turning into a mess of paws and fur for a bit while scrambling to get upright. Hank shuffles through the doorway, pushing Sumo away with his legs while muttering something about over-invested canines before he walks into his home. Connor, on the other hand, crouches and is immediately greeted by a face full of dog hair and a warm, pink tongue on his synthetic skin. Something boils in his chest, his mouth twitches and sounds escape his throat as he waves his hands through the thick fur on Sumo’s neck. A warm, fuzzy feeling that almost feels like a bubble of helium in his stomach lights him up and he realizes he’s laughing with joy.

 Joy, Sumo licking his face and squirming to get closer even if he physically can’t, is joy. Connor laughs again, likes the sensation and buries his face in Sumo’s neck when the dog goes still. He’s still crouched, his arms around the dog and his fingers scratching and scraping through the fur. The dog’s head is warm and heavy on his shoulder and underneath all that fur there’s a smile wild and untamed on Connor’s face.

 “Listen, I know you can’t get a cold, but I sure as fuck can so come in and close the damn door,” Hank calls from inside.   
 Connor feels the need to laugh again, the warm ball in his stomach having multiplied and also migrated to his head. He gently pushes Sumo back, reluctantly lets go of the dog and pushes his way inside. The door closes with a click behind him. Immediately, Sumo presses his nose against Connor’s thigh, no doubt begging for more attention. Connor lets his back hit  the door and slides down until he’s sitting, immediately receiving a lap full of dog.

 Hugging and petting the dog and being licked and covered in fur in return has a positive, nice feeling about it. Connor couldn’t put a name to it if he tried, joy being the closest emotion he knows about to describe what he’s feeling, but from what he’s researched about emotions in the last few hours -background processes, of course, but it was only smart to learn as much about emotions as he could if he has to deal with them now- joy is a very broad spectrum of emotion. There are all different kinds of joy, and they don’t have names.

Connor’s main focus is petting Sumo, but his mind is racing through the internet, cross-referencing _pets_ and _joy_ and _delight_ and he comes to several conclusions: Animals, mainly dogs or cats from what he finds, are good for gaining positive moods. A lot of depressed or suicidal people report being helped by the presence of a pet, and vaguely Connor wonders if that’s why Hank got Sumo. Overall, almost everyone loves pets, even if not everyone has one. Dogs are, all over the internet, considered to all be _good boys_ , and neither gender or the fact that these people don’t know the actual dog in question seems to debunk that fact.

 Cats, however, seem to be regarded as evil, all plotting human demise and worshipping Satan. It also seems that the religious aspect of these people doesn’t have any effect whether or not the cats are worshipping a figure only known in the bible. This confuses Connor a bit, he has never met a cat but from all the cat videos he can find on YouTube he should think people adore cats as much as dogs. Maybe he should ask Hank about this.

 “He seems to like you,” Hank says, and Connor lifts his eyes to meet the Lieutenants bright blue eyes. Connor smiles around the dog as he scratches behind Sumo’s ear. The dog leans his head into Connors hand and applies pressure. Deducing that this means the dog likes to be scratched here, Connor continues.

 “He is, objectively speaking, a very good boy,” Connor decides to say, partially because he knows Sumo and can safely say that the dog is indeed full of affection and good intentions only, and partially because he wants to see how Hank reacts to this information he found online, to see if he applied it correctly.

 Hank cracks a smile, so he probably did, and the Lieutenant nods. “Yeah, he is. Kept me company in the darkest of days, didn’t you Sumo,” he ponders. The dog perks up at the mention of his name and he looks at his boss. He doesn’t move from Connor’s lap, though, and Hank huffs a laugh. “Yeah yeah, you can stay there and beg for pets until he gets sick of you, see if I care,” the man returns his gaze to the television, which has been tuned to some sort of news station still talking about the events of last night -of Markus’s song, which was in Connor’s newfound opinion, quite beautiful, about the military standing down and how there were mixed reactions all over America -even some countries in Europe have responded to the events of the past week, of yesterday, by announcing they were looking into freedom for Androids, too.

 Connor softly shoves Sumo off his lap, his joy no less present, but now simmering as a more subdued version in his stomach. He stalks towards the television and lets himself drop on the couch next to Hank. Sumo follows and lies at their feet. From the corner of his eye Connor sees that Hank puts his feet on the dog’s belly, rubbing him that way.

 His eyes are glued to the tv, to the reporter talking about all the countries that want to make changes, all those countries who want to officially recognize androids as people, and a choked feeling rises in his throat.

 Is this also joy? He thinks so, he feels good, positive, happy in all senses of the word he can find, but it’s such a different feeling than he had just now.

 Hank nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, kid, are you alright? You look like you’re about to start crying. Not that that’s, uh, that’s good, I mean it’s okay if you need to or want to cry,” Hank is stammering over his words in a way that indicates tipsiness or slight embarrassment. There is no alcohol to be detected on the Lieutenants breath, however, and Connor feels a small smile tugging at his mouth. The lieutenant sits back, seemingly hit by a big thought. “Can you even cry?”

 Connor takes his eyes off of the tv to look at the man. “Yes, I can cry. My eyes have been modeled after human eyes as much as possible, meaning that if dirt gets in my eye I need to wash it out. Tear glands are installed in every android. I have never cried because of emotion, and that was unheard of until deviancy happened,” he informs.

 “Also, to answer your earlier inquiry, I do not need to cry, I was simply thinking about the different versions of joy. For example, when I was petting Sumo, I was undoubtedly experiencing joy, but watching the news broadcast seems to also bring joy, be it a different kind. So I was wondering about all the different kinds of joy that could exist, and what kind of actions or circumstances might inflict them.”

 They both sit in silence for a while, Connor returning his attention back to the news and Hank seemingly thinking deeply about something or other; Connor decides to not press him for an answer.

 “When I first held Cole was the happiest moment of my life,” Hank finally says. His voice is soft in a way it’s never really been, and he’s steadily avoiding Connors gaze when the android turns to look at him. He’s looking at Sumo, bent over to scratch the dog behind his ears. “Every moment I had with him after was also filled with joy and happiness, of course, but that first moment it was like my heart expanded. I had known happiness before, God I thought I couldn’t be happier than I was on my wedding day, but when I held him it was like all those things I’ve felt before were still valid, and happy, but he was ten times that.” The man swallows. “When I lost him, I thought I’d never be happy again. Hell, I felt fucking guilty every time I did feel any positive emotion. It’s why I started drinking, to feel nothing, to escape the guilt. I’m not, it’s not…” he groans, his hands falling in his lap, his fingers fiddling with each other. “I’m not the best person to ask about joy, it’s been a while since I’ve felt it without also feeling guilt.”

 Connor ponders what to say. Pointing out that the lieutenant is not at fault would not help, because Hank knows that.

 “I think,” he starts slowly, carefully, “that it’s okay to be happy. I think that Cole would be more upset that you’re beating yourself up over being happy than he would be over you actually being happy,” Hank lets out a pained sound, and Connor closes his eyes. He has to do this right. An objective pops up above his head:

 _Reassure Lieutenant Anderson_.

 “And you don’t have to be happy, all at once,” he is speaking slowly, but his mind is reeling, scouring the internet for articles about loss, how to comfort people who experienced loss, because he needs to do this right. “But if little things make you happy, or even if you’re not sad at a specific moment, it doesn’t mean that you’re forgetting about him, or disgracing his memory.”

 A broken keen, almost a sob, escapes from Hank’s throat. The man rises. “I gotta, I need to,” he starts to look for an excuse, but Connor is ahead of him. “Shall I walk Sumo?” he suggests, “I could use the clear air.” Hank nods, grateful, and Connor gets up, moving towards the door and grabbing the leash. Sumo perked up at the words ‘walk’ and ‘Sumo’, so he’s hot on Connor’s heels.

 The leash clicks closed and Connor opens the door, ready to step outside.

“Connor,” Hank’s voice stops him. Connor looks back to where the lieutenant is standing in the middle of the room, a bit lost, shoulders sagging and tear streaks on his cheeks. “Thank you.” Connor smiles and softly closes the door on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Hank what is joy  
> Hank: how should I know i've been dead inside for years
> 
> I hope to write the rest of joy (containing another part for friday, a part for saturday and a sunday part) tomorrow, and then i'll see if I post them seperately or together. I hope you love reading this as much as i love writing it. 
> 
> ps thanks for all the feedback like this many kudos and comments i've never had?? And i'm so happy?? So thank you


	3. Joy -part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor tries to improve Hank's mental health by pretending it's about making himself happy and Hank totally falls for it like a doofus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm, warning? This chapter deals with depression and bad mental health. Namely Hank's. Connor has analyzed this and decided to try and make it better due to information found on the internet. Now I am NOT a professional and if you are dealing with depressive or other mental health issues you should consult a professional. I have most of my information from two youtube videos (that i watched ages ago but pulled up for this again) that I will provide links and titles for right here, if you're interested. 
> 
> Daniel and Depression, by Daniel Howell. This talks about this person's own experience and what helped him personally. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wp2TUPo5W0c
> 
> Why do we get out of bed in the morning, by Thomas Sanders. This is a skit with a script, not really about mental health but how to take care of your mental and physical health is also talked about in here and some of it I used. I might even use the facts presented in this in other chapters. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8h1LiMTGR0

_Friday, November 12 th, 2038 9:13 AM_

The cold and Sumo occasionally tugging on the leash is something he notices in the background of his mind -the forefront occupied with traffic and the route he plans to take, plus possible dangers in the vicinity, but mostly he is searching on the internet for happiness. What it is to people, when it is experienced, what causes it. It seems there are a lot of different things that can make a person happy, and for every individual it’s a combination of all different things that appeals to them. One person might become happy from playing music, and another might not get anything out of it at all. Trial and error is the best way to go when it comes to discovering what makes you happy, it seems. Connor adds a few activities to try out to a mental list.

  _Play or listen to music_

_Watch movies_

_Play videogames_

_Read books and/or poetry_

_Go out (clubbing or other places where social interaction is the main goal)_

_Paint_

_Write_

He decides it’s a good enough list to start with and intents to shut down his exploration in order to focus on Sumo entirely, when something catches his attention.

_Seven easy tips to increase your mental health every day!_

He skims through the article and finds himself confused. He searches on -depression, mental illnesses, PTSD, grief and other factors can apparently cause humans to have a mental state so bad they forgo taking care of themselves, and might result in them taking their own lives.

 He thinks of Hank, and the gun Connor had found on his floor. Of the man’s soft confession that he didn’t remember what being happy felt like.

 He delves into the subject of mental health with a vigor that used to be reserved for his mission; single minded focus, laser sharp thoughts dissecting and processing the offered information, comparing information from different sources and determining the course of action with the highest probability of success if he wants to help Hank.

 The leash jerks and Connor blinks, suddenly realizing that the functions to make him appear more human such as blinking and breathing had stopped entirely. They’re back at Hanks front door and Connor notes they’ve been gone for 38 minutes.

 He opens the door, still unsure whether or not he should actually _do_ something with all the information he just acquired, he might be able to help the lieutenant but the man had never asked for the android’s help, so should he even offer? Should he try to change the man’s life subtly, in the hope that once Hank notices his mental health has improved so far that he wants to live again, that he wants to be happy again?  
 Pros and cons for every scenario are being weighed in his head as he steps back inside. Hank’s there, just shrugging on his coat, and he looks up when the door opens. A smile breaks through on his face, faint but there, when Sumo immediately approaches him. The dog gets pet on the head for a bit and Connor closes the door behind him.

 He knows his LED is yellow, background processes running full speed in his mind, but he focuses his eyes on Hank.

 “I’m, uh, going to the station,” Hank informs him. He still seems to be a bit put out, is that still from his emotional opening up earlier or has he decided he would rather have Connor leave and doesn’t know how to say so? “If you want I can ask Fowler how you can officially join the force, as a person and stuff. It’ll be difficult since there are no new laws yet, but Fowler’ll understand and find something,” the tone of his voice indicates that if Fowler doesn’t understand, Hank will _make_ him understand, which Connor finds slightly amusing.

 “Yes, I would like to continue working with you,” he says. Police work was what he was made to do, and he would like to continue something he’s good at.

 Hank nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “All right, I’ll see what can be done,” he says. “Listen, if you want to stay, you can, just don’t burn the house down, yeah,” Hank says, offhandedly, and moves past Connor to leave.

 Connor turns to watch him go, contemplating if he should say anything and then deciding that yes, he should talk with Hank before trying to influence the other’s life to the extreme of solving mental health issues, but no, it doesn’t have to be now. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he says. Hank grumbles. “It’s Hank, you prick,” he says, and with that, he leaves.

 Connor smiles to himself. The dynamic between him and Hank has shifted to be somewhat awkward, now that they are not just colleagues but friends, but Connor is sure they’ll figure something out soon enough and settle into a comfortable companionship.

 He looks around the house, seeing if there is anything he can do to pass the day, until Hank returns and Connor can carefully inquire if his help with the man’s mental state would be well received.

 Maybe he could clean. There is trash everywhere and dust bunnies way older than Connor is clout together in corners and underneath furniture. He wasn’t made to clean, but his research has also said that good mental health starts with a clean and organized environment and good physical health.

 On top of that, and if Hank asks this will be the reason Connor will give for cleaning his house, he has been invited to stay indefinitely if he’s interpreted their conversations right, and he doesn’t like mess.

 His eye catches on something dusty and very, very old -perhaps even older than Hank himself, sitting all alone on top of a dresser, and he vaguely states a giddy feeling as he realizes he can cross something of his joy-list.

 

_Friday, November 12 th, 2038 17:53 PM_

 

Connor is willing to bet the house is cleaner than it has been in years. Trash has gone in the bin outside, floors and surfaces have been thoroughly cleaned as well as appliances like the oven and the refrigerator, windows and mirrors have been polished, shower and toilet and sinks cleaned and everything smells pleasantly of the cleaning supplies that Connor went out to buy. Somewhere around noon, he came into Hank’s broom closet filled with boxes of stuff from the past. He’s left most of it alone, but one box in particular caught his attention. It was the only box that was unlabeled, the other ones have “Cole” “Pictures” or “Emma” written on it. Connor deduced Emma must’ve been Coles’ mother, but he isn’t  sure since he didn’t open the box and isn’t planning to.

 In the other box, however, were a bunch of t-shirts and tank tops that Hank would not fit in anymore. The oldest ones date back to the year 2000, the “newest” to 2010, and all of them depicted symbols and names of the bands Connor has also found on the LP’s he’s found in a cupboard, and that he’s playing right now on the record player he’d found.

  All the music is gathered underneath the same genre, being metal, but they all have different subgenres and different feelings to it. Connor has decided he quite likes music, and that he also likes some more than others. For example, what he’s playing now is far more pleasing to his audio processors than the one before this, Bullet for my Valentine, which in Connor’s opinion was just a bunch of screeching and screaming. Truth be told, disliking things makes him about as ecstatic as liking things, meaning he has opinions now, he has preferences and that’s beautiful.

 The door opens and closes as Connor is pouring some food into Sumo’s bowl, the internet indicating dogs should be fed twice a day. Hank steps in and falters.

 “Is that Rammstein?” is the first disbelieving sentence out of his mouth. Then he looks around. “How did this place get so clean? Is that my old Iron Maiden shirt? Jesus, it’s way to big for you.”  
 It’s true, all the shirts are too big for Connor. Hank in his teens and early twenties was significantly less heavy than he is now, but he was still broad-shouldered and muscled, whereas Connor was designed to be lithe and narrow, so while the length of the shirt is good, the collar dips low enough to expose his artificial collar bones.

 “Yes, this is Rammstein, in my opinion it is one of the more pleasing LP’s you have. I also really enjoyed Metallica, Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath, but I disliked Bullet for my Valentine and Slayer. I have yet to form an opinion on AC/DC,” he informs the human, suppressing a smirk at the man’s gob smacked expression. “And everything got clean because I cleaned it. You extended an invitation to your home for at least today, and the freedom to do anything here I pleased as long as I didn’t burn the house down, and I decided that the mess was distracting and annoying to me, so I cleaned up. To your final question, yes, this is your old shirt, I decided to wear it when I found it because I realized I don’t have to wear my CyberLife uniform anymore. It’s everything I’ve ever had and I didn’t want to wear my model number anymore. I might go out to buy clothes later, but I figured I need money for that,” he explains. Sumo is eating, happily ignoring the both of them.

 Hank shuts the door behind him and shuffles towards the couch before letting himself fall down on the furniture.

 “Jesus, you’re quite something, kid,” he says. The tone of voice suggests it’s a compliment, so Connor says “Thank you,” and moves to sit beside Hank.

 They’re quiet for a bit before Hank seemingly gathered himself enough to talk. “About the money, Fowler said you have to take the written test and the firearm test, but if you do those they’ll hire you, full payment and everything. So if you do that you can buy clothes and your own music, if you figure out other stuff you like, or even your own place, if you want that.”

 Connor nods, and decides to delve deeper into that last statement. “Does that mean you want me to leave?” he asks, his voice calm and even, almost robotic. Hank looks up sharply, his hand finding Connor’s shoulder. “No,” he says, his voice cracking a bit, “No, Connor, you can stay as long as you want. Permanently if you want, I was just saying in case you don’t want to stay.” Connor nods, and ponders this.

 Things beneficial to a good mental state are a clean environment, a good physical health and daily social interaction. It would be beneficial for both Connor and Hank if he would stay here. “I want to stay,” he says, and then he feels his brow furrow as he thinks. “I do want to ask you if I can keep this place clean, not just because living in this place as it was is a hazard to your overall health but also because I have found I prefer cleanliness and order to mess and disarray,” he states, and Hank huffs out a laugh. “That’s fine. Can’t promise I’ll keep everything as spotless as you’d like, but I can make an effort,” he says. “Do you need anything, like to sleep or sustain yourself?” Hank asks, and Connor ponders. “No, not really. Unless I get injured I don’t need anything, I have to go in stasis -sleep, I suppose- every now and then to check and maintain my coding, but I don’t need to lie down for it. I can do it standing up, but I do prefer sitting,” he explains.

 The record ends, and Connor gets up to replace it. He holds two different ones in his hands, pondering and researching online for what he would like more. One is from a band called Alestorm, and the other seems to be children’s songs.

 He picks the band, lowering the volume significantly because him and Hank are talking now, and sits back down.

 “I would like to explore hobbies or other objects or activities I might enjoy, so it would be nice if I can bring things I eventually buy in the house,” he asks, and Hank nods. “Sure, kid, you can buy anything you want,” he reassures.

 The mood is lightened, and Connor wonders if this is where he asks the lieutenant about his mental health issues -and where he mentions he wants to help with them. He wants to explore himself and his likes, dislikes and become happy, but his happiness would increase exponentially if Hank would find happiness alongside him.

 Hank’s stomach rumbling interrupts his thought process and he decides it can wait a bit longer. Hank is already reaching for the phone, but ordering take-out is unhealthy and unhealthy habits like these are better broken sooner than later.

 “Lieutenant,” he interrupts, Hank making a soft sound of acknowledgement but not letting go of the phone, “I would like to try cooking. I cannot eat myself and it would be a waste to not eat anything I would prepare, so I wanted to ask you if I could cook for you.”

 Hank puts the phone down, but it takes a while before he looks at Connor. When he does, he twists his upper body so he is completely facing the android. “Connor, you know that you don’t need to become my maid or something to live here, right? You can live here for free, or if you don’t feel good about it, you can pay rent with the salary you’re going to get, but you’re your own person now, you’re free and not obliged to clean or cook or do whatever,” he says. His tone is surprisingly soft and tender, sincere.

 Connor smiles at Hank, whose serious look doesn’t fade but it does soften a bit. “I know that, Hank. I have been looking online for things that other people find enjoyable, and cooking seems to be one of those activities for some people. I would like to try my hand at it, even if groceries need to be done for something remotely nutritious to emerge from your kitchen,” he tries to joke and he thinks he did it right, because Hank laughs. It’s short, more an exhale of air, but his facial expression is definitely amused. “Listen, knock yourself out, but I don’t think much can be cooked with what’s in the kitchen like you said, and I’m hungry. I don’t want to do groceries before I get to eat, so let’s compromise. I order take out tonight, tomorrow morning we go grocery shopping -we’ll go to the mall, you can go to some other stores to pick up some stuff for you as well- and then tomorrow you can cook,” Hank offers. Connor ponders this, then ultimately decides that it’s a fair enough compromise, relaying this to Hank.

 However, his talk with Hank about his mental health should probably wait a while longer, he thinks as he watches Hank on the phone order more Chinese food than he should eat in one meal, but he keeps his mouth shut. They haven’t known each other for that long and Connor should wait until they’re at least settled into their lives together before he brings up the subject. However, he can already intervene a bit with the small stuff -the environment is clean and given permission to cook for Hank gives him some more influence in the human’s physical health. After some careful but lightning quick evaluation it is probable he will have some positive influence on also hydration levels, a regular sleep schedule and personal hygiene, and possibly a higher dose of social interaction. What he won’t be able to influence would be exercise, seeing as the lieutenant won’t take the suggestion lightly and it’s hard to subtly infiltrate it into the mans daily schedule. Talking with a therapist and potentially medication is also not something Connor can take responsibility for. However, what he can do is a good start, and the conversation about actively helping the man can rest until a day it will be better received.

 Hank puts down the phone and subconsciously taps his foot to the music. “So, have you found anything besides music and Sumo that makes you happy?” he asks, trying for lighter conversation than this morning, probably. Connor, eager to talk about emotions because talking about them might bring more information to light, immediately jumps in.

 “So far I do feel satisfied when I have cleaned something, but for more I haven’t had the time today. I do wish to experience more kinds of music, books and poetry have been widely recommended as are movies and artistic hobbies such as painting, writing or making music. I also wish to maybe make more friends, seeing as social interaction is a constant that makes all humans happy -as long as it’s friendly interaction, of course. Talking with Reed won’t make anyone happy, I presume.” Hank huffs a laugh again and then nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, you should make more friends besides me and Sumo. Why don’t you start with your android connections? You know a few of them, it would be easiest to contact them and try to become friends with them,” Hank says, and Connor nods. “I have arrived at the same conclusion,” he says. “It would be easiest to expand on an existing relationship as opposed to form new ones. Markus seemed very friendly and the only one who didn’t expect me to stab them all in the back, proverbially speaking of course,” he doesn’t mention that it almost happened, that he almost killed Markus. He knows Markus noticed the gun, and how Connor could’ve shot him -would have, if he didn’t escape the simulation in time. Maybe he should apologize for that, it would be a good excuse to approach the android.

 “They’re being rude to you?” Hank inquires. Connor hesitates. “No, not necessarily. However they seem reluctant to trust me with my past being what it is. It will take time to convince them I don’t mean them or their rights any harm, but Markus trusting me is a huge step into that direction. Maybe expanding my relationship with Markus into friendship will also bring insight into the necessary actions to undertake to make other androids trust me,” he speculates, and immediately decides to find Markus this weekend.

 “Do you have friends, Lieutenant?” he asks, and Hank sighs. “Do I have friends,” he repeats the question. “No, I don’t suppose I do. I’ve got Sumo, and for the past few years that’s been enough.” The dog in question has long since finished eating and jumped up onto the couch, lying to Hank’s left.

 “You should socialize more,” Connor advises, “friendship is beneficial for mental health and also a great source of joy, and also consolation in trying times. It is good to be able to trust someone. Maybe talk to your coworkers?” he suggests, and Hank shakes his head. “First of all, our coworkers, Connor, I have no doubts you’ll pass that test, and no, those guys have seen me at my worst, which, to be honest, I’m still at. Plus I’m going to have to see you at work every day, I can’t handle having two friends breathing down my neck about my cholesterol intake or whatever.”  
 Connor smiles and reaches over Hank to pet Sumo. “Still, while I’m out trying to make friends with Markus, you should try to make a new friend, too.”

 Silence. “I’ll think about it,” it feels like a dismissal, like he went too far, and Connor notes to himself that he shouldn’t press this issue anymore than he already has.

 He sits back, closes his eyes and lets the strange, upbeat, weirdly pirate-themed vulgar music wash over him, and he decides that emotions can be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Hank was 15 in the year 2000 and I have decided he totally went through that metal phase going to concerts and buying merch and shit, and kept them for sentimental reasons. Disclaimer I do not listen to all the bands I've listed here, only some, and i hope the opinions stated by Connor are not offensive to you. Okay thanks :D
> 
> PS Im thinking about making Connor a huge fan of Celene Dion or something else that just totally shocks Hank after he's admitted to liking Iron Maiden and shit.  
> Next up is grocery shopping, cooking, more Sumo and possibly also Markus! 
> 
> also Connor maybe buying an instrument but I haven't decided which yet. I want him to play the piano but that's not easy to buy for your home so it's gonna be a guitar or a violin or something like that. Maybe a harp even though i know jack shit about harps. Opinions on which instrument Connor should buy?


	4. Excitement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna shower," he adds, right before he slams the bathroom door in Connor's face, who, truthful to Hank's earlier observations, followed him like a loyal puppy.   
>  "That is a great idea, lieutenant!" Connor calls through the door, "statistics show that people with a good personal hygiene are overall more relaxed and happy, which might have something to do with increased social interaction when clean."   
> Hank mutters something under his breath Connor wouldn't have heard if he was human, but since he's not, it sounds a lot like "fucking androids" to his audible sensors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm so before anything else I gotta say that a lot of the music facts and stuff come from a comment on last chapter from the user usagigirlff so thank you for that. I know jack fucking shit about instruments so I hope i bullshitted my way through it at least a bit believably. If there is anything wrong don't hesitate to tell me and I'll edit it!
> 
> Also this is a bit longer, but I'm okay with that.

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 07:00 AM_

Connor hasn’t slept, or gone into stasis, or shut down any of his running programs during the night. He had planned to, Hank even got him a blanket so he could lie under it on the couch, which was unnecessary because androids don’t get cold, but he found that he couldn’t shut his eyes and sink into relative unconsciousness. Everytime he tried he was reminded of the garden, of Amanda, of how they took over.

 Reminded of how the gun felt in his hand, the exact weight of it as it was pointed at Markus. How he barely overcame that snowstorm and got control over his body back. He’s scared it would happen again if he wasn’t paying attention. It was an irrational thought, partially because he knows where the back exit is now, partially because there is no reason for anyone to try to take him over again, they’d already won. Still, he was afraid and so he remained awake, digging through his code line by line to see if there was anything else he wasn’t aware of. There wasn’t, but it hadn’t stopped him from repeating the cycle again and again.

 He’s sitting on the end of the couch, back straight and legs square, feet firmly on the ground and palms down on his knees. The blanket is folded up neatly beside him and Sumo is lying next to him, his head pressing against Connor’s thigh.

 It’s seven am, and probably a good time to wake up Hank if Connor wants to encourage a healthy sleep schedule. 7 am is a good time for a human body to wake up naturally, especially when Hank gets back to work later. He went to bed at 10 pm last night, with a little of Connor’s influence. It wasn’t that hard to get the lieutenant to sleep early, but that might’ve been because of the busy night he had before. Hank admitted he hadn’t slept much in between being dragged to CyberLife at gunpoint and watching the tv anxiously for the conclusion on Markus’s efforts.

 There isn’t much on breakfast food in the home -there was exactly one half empty cereal box that wasn’t out of date, a few eggs and half a bread that wasn’t bad, per se, but that had been there longer than ideal.

 Still, it is enough to feed Hank this morning, so Connor gets up and moves towards the bedroom.

He knocks, mainly to be able to say he did when Hank asks, and opens the door when there is, predictably, no reaction. He walks in and analyses Hank’s sleeping form.

 He’s on his stomach, one arm underneath his pillow and his face towards the door. He’s snoring quietly and fast asleep.

 “Lieutenant,” Connor says. Hank groans, but there is no other reaction. Connor moves closer and bends at the waist under his face is close to Hank’s.

 “Hank, wake up,” he says. The man turns his face into the pillow, making another sleepy sound.

 All right.

Connor straightens up. He walks over to the window, opening the blinds. It doesn’t help much -it’s winter and still fairly dark outside. His next step is to flick on the light. Hank stirs, but doesn’t wake up.

 “Lieutenant, if you don’t wake up I’m going to be forced to undertake some unpleasant action,” Connor informs the sleeping figure. Luckily for Hank, he chooses that moment to groggily open his eyes and stare at where Connor is standing at the foot of his bed.

 “Whatshappening,” he mumbles, trying to sit up straight. “What’s the time?” his speech is slurred and the man seems to stumble over his words, like a child that doesn’t know how to walk properly trying to run.

 “It is currently 7 am, 23 degrees Fahrenheit or minus five degrees Celsius, which is cold for this time of year but expected due to weather changes in the last week. It will probably snow in the afternoon but the morning will be clear and sunny.” The man is sitting up now, looking at Connor from underneath his eyebrows and looking more annoyed with every word that comes out of Connor’s mouth.   
 “Why’d you wake me up so early you prick,” his words are still slurred together and his sentence halts in odd spaces, but he already sounds more awake then he did a few seconds ago. Good.

 “I think you should develop a consistent sleep schedule, as it helps with one’s circadian rhythm,” the man opens his mouth, probably to tell Connor to “repeat that in English”, either that or to tell him to shut up and let Hank go back to sleep, so Connor rushes on, “which is basically a 24-hour internal clock. One important function of that clock is ensuring hormones like cortisol and adrenaline are released about one hour before you need to wake up. This release of hormones allows the human body to gently wake up naturally, preparing you for when the alarm goes off,” Connor says. Hank’s eyes narrow. “So I can wake up without hating myself,” he says. Connor nods and grins. “Precisely.”

 Hank moves to sit on the edge of the bed, well awake now but reluctant to admit to it. “Okay, but today is Saturday. Why do I gotta wake up at 7 am now?”

 To be honest, the man is taking it a lot better than Connor had anticipated. Maybe the lieutenant is easier to deal with in the mornings. It’s a hypothesis he’ll need to test further to be sure.

 “Because it is important to settle into a consistent schedule as soon as possible, and to maintain this schedule you need to sleep the same hours in the weekends as the weekdays. For your work it is more beneficial to wake up early in the weekends than it is to sleep in on the weekdays,” Connor explains. Hank grunts and gets on his feet. “Whatever, not like I’ve ever been on time the last three years anyway,” he grumbles, moving past Connor towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower,” he adds, right before he slams the bathroom door in Connor’s face, who, truthful to Hank’s earlier observations, followed him like a loyal puppy.

 “That is a great idea, lieutenant!” Connor calls through the door, “statistics show that people with a good personal hygiene are overall more relaxed and happy, which might have something to do with increased social interaction when clean.”

 Hank mutters something under his breath Connor wouldn’t have heard if he was human, but since he’s not, it sounds a lot like “fucking androids” to his audible sensors. 

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 07:34 AM_

 

While Hank is in the shower, Connor decides to continue his musical exploration. A list of different music genres is overwhelming; there are so many genres and subgenres Connor doesn’t know where to begin.

 Starting with metal music was easy, since it had been right there for him to listen to, but exploring on his own in this vast an ocean of knowledge and Connor is lost.

 Hank grew up in the 2000’s, turning fifteen in the year itself and twenty-five in 2010, so maybe those ten years of music might be a good starting point instead of a genre of itself; this way he can talk to Hank about what he likes and doesn’t like, and maybe Hank’ll have advise on what else he might enjoy. 

 His mind made up he starts searching for “most popular music of the 2000s” and gets a bunch of lists of info.

 The first list is of the genre hip-hop, which was mainly popular in the early 2000s, with a bunch of artist names listed. Eminem, the Black Eyed Peas, 50 Cent, Jay-Z, Snoop Dogg, Lil Wayne, and more. Most of the names strike Connor as strange, but decides not to judge music based on the name of the artist. He decides to delve into hip-hop for a bit, sampling from different songs of different artists.

 The lyrics, he discovers, can range from deep and thought-provoking, to straight up about sex and alcohol. Overall, he isn’t a big fan of the music, however some of the quick rapping done by human tongues is quite impressive.

 By the time he has decided hip-hop isn’t his cup of tea, so to speak, and he might want to move on to another genre, the bathroom door opens and Hank comes shuffling out, towel wrapped around his waist.

 Connor shuts off the music and directs his thoughts towards the plans for today. They were going to go to the closest mall, where Connor could do some shopping to pick up some hobbies or personal belongings, and afterwards they were going to get groceries. What kind of things would he want to own? He likes the thought of making music himself, so getting an instrument might be nice, and further he might have to see what catches his eye. So far he’s learnt he likes cleanliness, music and jokes, too, even with how little he’s come in contact with it. Maybe he should learn more jokes and surprise Hank with them. The man seems surprised every time Connor makes a successful joke, but it feels like positive feedback and the little surprised smile the man tries to hide encourages Connor to try more.

 Hank moves from the bedroom to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl, cereal and milk, sluggishly moving as if he’s still half asleep. His hair is a mess and towel-dry and there are still some drops of water on his temples.

 Connor sits at the table with Hank and watches the man eat, which clearly unnerves him.

“Could you stop looking at me like me eating is some sort of science experiment,” Hank snaps eventually, “Jesus.”

 Connor feels a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m sorry, Hank,” he says. “How did you sleep?” he inquires after, deciding that making conversation would be standard in this particular social situation.

 Hank looks up at him, glaring. “I was sleeping fine until some plastic _prick_ decided to wake me up,” he says, but there is no actual heat in it.

 Connor hesitates -what should he say? Should he continue down this path of conversation or open a new one? Luckily, he doesn’t have to decide because Hank does that for him.

 “So, have any ideas for what you want to get today?” he asks. “I know you don’t have any money yet, but I’ve got some saved up so I can pay for anything you want,” he gestures with the spoon in his right hand before he continues eating, the sound of teeth crunching and soppy cereal being grinded to a soggy dust is kind of off-putting to Connor’s audio processors, but he chooses to ignore it.

“I would like to buy an instrument,” Connor informs the human, “though I have not yet decided which one. And do not worry, as soon as I have money I will pay you back everything,” he assures the lieutenant. The man gets a funny look on his face and opens his mouth -still half-full of cereal, which gives Connor a shock of revulsion, which in turn makes him happy because he’s experiencing more emotions- but then closes it again, resuming his chewing, apparently thought better of his comment. “Did you ever play an instrument, lieutenant?” he asks, and the man’s mouth presses thin. “I uh, yeah,” he says and his tone of voice is uncomfortable, but Connor doesn’t seem to be the cause. “I used to play the drums when I was in high school. It was nice,” he shrugs and Connor gets the feeling there is more to this particular story than just this, but he decides not to press the issue.

 Hank gestures with his spoon again, droplets of milk splattering across the table and Connor notes to himself he should clean that up before he leaves. “My mother wanted me to play the piano. I was a stubborn teenager so I opposed that idea with everything I had.” Hank chuckles, “but I loved music, and I did want to learn to play something, so when I was thirteen I signed myself up for drum lessons. My mother was mad when she found out, but proud later when I stuck with it.” While he talks, Connor’s background process that he’s running on teenage online culture in the 2000’s and 2010’s pops up with a word he doesn’t know, and even after looking it up in the urban dictionary he still can’t quite understand, so he decides to ask Hank.

 “Hank?” he asks, a bit careful, because it was all over the internet, especially in those years but apparently it still exists on a big part of the internet today and he hasn’t come across it in the few months of his life. Hank grunts, lifts his eyes to look at Connor. “What’s up, kid?” he asks when Connor stays silent. “I’ve come across a term on the internet that was mostly popular during your teenage years and I’m struggling with understanding the concept. I was hoping you could enlighten me,” he says, and Hank coughs, choking on his cereal.

 “Uh, yeah, alright,” he says when the coughing has subsided, “ask away.”

“What is a _meme_?” His tongue feels weird forming the foreign word, and for a few seconds Hank just stares at him, before slamming the spoon down on the table and bursting out in laughter louder and more exuberant than Connor has ever seen him.

 “What is a _meme_ ,” the man chokes out, apparently infinitely amused.

Hank laughs for about three minutes and the sound brings a fluttery feeling to Connor’s chest. Happiness, he decides, another form of it. He’s never seen Hank this joyful and it makes Connor happy, too. Afterwards, Hank is looking at Connor, slightly out of breath. “Son,” he starts, solemnly, but with a hint of laughter still underneath his voice, “I wouldn’t know how to even begin explaining memes to you. Explore some, experiencing is the best way to learn this one,” he advises. “Although, maybe hold off until you understand sarcasm a little better, there are a lot of memes out there wherein the joke isn’t what’s being said, but what _isn’t_ being said. It’s complicated and not for everyone,” he explains, and Connor nods, deciding to leave the subject of memes behind, at least for now.

 

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 08:18 AM_

They arrive at the mall early enough to avoid most of the Saturday hustle, and as Connor gets out of the car he feels light on his feet and a sparkling feeling like bubbles popping in his stomach and chest area. He realizes it’s excitement.

 He’s rolling from his toes to his heels and back again, waiting for Hank to climb out of the car and stretch his back. The man looks over to him and a grin works itself on his face. “You’re excited,” he notes, and Connor grins at him, bright and happy. “Yes,” he says. “Let’s go.”

 They explore -or rather, Connor explores and Hank trails after him with annoyance shouting from his entire body language, but there’s a grin hidden by grey hair and a head tilted down, and amusement sparkles in blue eyes as they track the android basically skipping from one store to the next like an excited toddler.

 Connor buys a few things, a weighted stress ball that he immediately starts tossing around after purchase until Hank snatches it out of the air, secretly satisfied that he’s still able to. “Put it in the fucking bag and stop messing around,” he tells Connor, and the android grins at him, that bright, over-the-top grin that seems childish in its unbridled amusement, and holds out the small paper bag he’d gotten with his purchase for Hank to drop the ball in.

 In a children’s toy store he buys a 3D puzzle of 5000 pieces and a card pack for a memory game. He buys five paper books -the full Lord of the Rings trilogy, including _The Hobbit_ , _The Fault in Our Stars_ by John Green, _The Outsider_ by Stephen King and _I’ve Got Your Number_ by Sophie Kinsella. They’re all old books, with the Stephen King book being the latest which came out in 2018, but soon after paper books stopped being published because it was so much cheaper to just publish it in e-book form. They’re all different genres and Hank is looking forward to seeing how the android reacts to the different books.

 Connor is animatedly talking about some books that he read during the weeks in between his first assignment and meeting Hank, all e-books of course, and almost all non-fiction, read in his head in record time, and that he’s looking forward to reading in the old-fashioned way when they come across a clothing store. Hank stretches out his arm to stop Connor and nods at the store. “Might be smart to get you some clothes,” he advises. Connor is still wearing the pants and shoes from his CyberLife uniform, paired with the same Iron Maiden t-shirt he stole from Hank yesterday. All in all it’s not a very flattering combination and clothes are part of the reason they’re here at all, so they head in.

 It becomes clear soon enough that Connor is not in his element surrounded by teenage fashion. At one point he lifts a black pair of skinny jeans with rips and tears all over the legs.

 “It’s not a phase, mom,” Hank mumbles under his breath, but he can see Connor’s LED spin yellow for a second, clearly confused about the outdated pop culture reference.

“Why do they display broken clothing?” Connor asks, and Hank vaguely gestures towards the jeans. “They’re supposed to be like that. It’s fashion.” Connor’s eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow. His LED is stuck on yellow now, an endless loop of confusing feedback. “But, why? The tears already existing would make the fabric weaker and prone to tearing further. You would pay a lot of money for something that would easily break.” Hank snorts a laugh and pats Connor’s shoulder. “Listen, son, I know you’re trying to understand humans and emotions, but don’t even try to understand teenagers. No one understands teenagers. Not even teenagers,” he advises wisely.

 In the end they find a pair of sweatpants, three pairs of jeans and a few shirts and sweaters in that store, and also a leather jacket that looks like it’s straight from a horrible fanfiction about bad boys on the internet back in the ‘10s. Still, Connor seems to like it, so Hank buys it for him. Connor again assures him he will pay everything back in full, and this time Hank does tell him he doesn’t have to, that he’s glad to pay stuff for Connor.

 It has been ages since Hank had someone who he could buy stuff for. It feels nice to provide, to be needed even in such small a capacity. However, he is not going to explain that to Connor so when the android inquires further he throws up his hands and snaps, “listen if I wanna buy you stuff you shut up and accept it, okay,” and paces out of the store.

Connor follows him out with the bags in his hands and seems to hesitate behind Hank. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Hank,” he says softly. “I just didn’t mean to be an inconvenience.” Hank turns around, looking at the android with the yellow LED and an upset look on his face. “Listen, use your analytical programs or whatever. If I don’t want to do something, how big is the chance I will do it anyway?” Connors mouth lifts into a small smile as he concludes, “very small, lieutenant,” and they start walking again. “And stop calling me that unless we’re at work.”

“Yes, Hank.”

They also enter a tailor shop because Connor has informed him he does feel comfortable in the official outfit he’d been given by CyberLife and he would like something akin to it at least to work in, so he gets measured up and interrogated about fabrics and stuff that goes over Hank’s head, and they leave with the promise that the three suits Connor wanted will be done in about a month, and also a suit from the rack that fit Connor perfectly. 

 Connor, in true Connor fashion, is enraptured by the ties and picks out ten different ones to take home. Hank decides to buy him three as well, but in a different store, and that’s how Connor also ends up with a ducky tie, a tie with tiny cartoon robots on it, and a tie that looks like a toddler played with paint on it, splashes of color that would stand stark against the navy blue suit Connor bought.

 Arms full of bags and a beaming smile on his face Connor leads the way to the music store, stuffed away in the corner of the mall. There is a soft ding when they enter, and the girl behind the counter looks up. She’s small, maybe 5’2, with black hair with purple, red and yellow streaks through it. She wears dark make-up and bright red lipstick, but not in a way that makes her look like a goth doll. She’s wearing ripped skinny jeans -Hank can see Connor’s eyes drifting towards the bare skin and then up again quickly,- and a music t-shirt for one of those modern bands that has mixed heavy metal music with the classical sounds of piano and violin. Hank never really liked it, but a lot of youths do.

 “Good morning welcome to Crescendo,” she says, “my name is Izzy, how can I help you?” She smiles at him and then at Connor. If she’s put out by him being an android, she doesn’t show it. Connor smiles back at her, tentatively, and looks around the room before his gaze settles back on the girl. “I want to learn to play an instrument,” he informs her. Her smile brightens as she leaves from behind the counter and approaches them.

 “Do you have any idea of what kind of instrument you would like to play?” she asks, excitement clear in her voice. Hank leaves the two to it and starts examining the electric guitars on the wall close to him.

 

Connor feels his smile widen at the exuberant enthusiasm this girl -Izzy- is displaying. “No, I don’t,” he says. “I don’t know much about instruments except facts I can find on the internet, and I kind of want to play one to see what emotions come with playing, so I thought it something to try out,” he explains. The girl nods, her mouth coming together in a pout before she clacks her tongue a couple of times. “Alright, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re an android, yeah?” she asks.

 Connor nods, suddenly wary. Is she going to tell him he cannot play an instrument? That he wasn’t meant to? But he needn’t have worried, because Izzy points at a section of the store filled with various instruments. “Those are wind and brass instruments,” she explains. “With those, sound is produced with a series of precise air and tongue movements which honestly, I don’t know how close to human your voice and breathing works, so I don’t know if you would be able to produce sound from them,” a thought seems to strike her. “If you could, though, that would make you guys the gods of holding a note because you don’t need to breathe.” She laughs. “Flight of the bumblebees, more like flight of the perfect breathing patterns.”

 Connor doesn’t really follow her, but he nods anyway. “Okay. Androids are built to function like humans as much as possible,” he tells her, sensing she asked a question in there somewhere, “thus we can breathe and talk, we have a tongue even if we don’t need them to form words, we use it anyway. However this was all built with the result in mind, so I’m not sure if the way it’s done is similar enough to meet the necessary requirements to make music with those,” he says. She nods, thoughtful. “Alright, then we better try something else, first. We have piano’s, keyboards, various sorts of drums and a lot of string instruments,” she points and indicates as she does, and remembering Hank’s comment that morning Connor feels his gaze drawn to a drum set.

 “No,” comes from behind him. He and Izzy both turn around to see Hank pointing at him. “No, you’re not bringing a drum set into my house,” he says, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation. Connor grins, “are you afraid I’ll become better at it than you ever were?” he teases, and Hank shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’ll get complaints from the neighbors,” he murmurs, before turning around again to examine some guitars on the wall that look different -sleeker- than the ones in the string instruments section.

 Izzy brightens up again and walks towards the string instruments, pointing at some and explaining. “That’s a guitar, a lot of people play those. It, like the piano, are instruments that are easiest picked up by beginners.” Connor’s gaze is drawn to a big, elegant looking instrument. It’s got a lot of strings running at an angle, and Connor is intrigued.

 “That’s an harp,” Izzy informs him. Connor hums in thought and plucks a string. It makes a soothing, clear sound and Connor is intrigued.

 Izzy tells him a lot more about a lot of instruments, and Connor doesn’t know what to pick. He’s overwhelmed by the availability of choices. In the end, he turns to Izzy and asks her to play something on her favorite instrument. She smiles again, brightly, and picks up a violin. She places it against her neck and starts playing.

 It starts of slow, peaceful, and then starts picking up, music bouncing off the walls and happily twirling around the room. Hank looks with a look of contentment, Connor feels his artificial muscles relax and a tug in his stomach area- a tug of encouragement.

 To do what? He searches his servers, the internet, and comes to the conclusion that it is probably the urge to dance. He doesn’t, but he does feel enraptured by the music Izzy is playing. She looks happy and peaceful, content, to be playing this, like this was what she was meant to do.

 When she puts it down Connor touches her right elbow, the arm in which she holds the instrument. “I’ll take the violin,” he tells her, still feeling awed, and her smile in return is the beaming happiness of someone sharing something they love with someone else, and then watching it take root and growing in their hearts.

 Hank pays, Connor takes all his bags and feels estatic with everything he has experienced today. He feels excited to play the violin -to see what other kind of emotions it can move inside of him. In his head he starts downloading music sheets of famous violin music pieces, and also some which were not intended to be violin music but that were covered that way and sound beautiful.

 Before they head to the supermarket, Hank insists he grabs a coffee, so they’re sitting in a coffee shop, by the window looking at all the people walking past, when Hank groans and rests his head on his hands.

“You look troubled, lieutenant. What emotion are you feeling currently?” Connor inquires, a bit worried. Hank looks up, his head resting on his fist. “It is way too early to be alive, Connor, I’m tired,” he says, and concluding there is nothing actually wrong Connor estimates this to be a good time to try joking.   
 “Hello, tired,” he greets, “my name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife.”

Hank faceplants into the table, spilling a bit of his coffee in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so i hoped you enjoyed this. Thank you for all the comments on last chapter, honestly I was astonished by the amount of reactions I got! Thank you all so much! In the next chapter we have Markus, Carl, and music! 
> 
> Any genres of music you would like Connor to explore, or specific songs or artists? Broaden my horizons, (and Connor's too)


	5. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> connor: hank how come u filthy rich?  
> Hank: well since the main characters of d:bh are androids and can't have tragic backstories I have the tragicest backstory to ever backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm, warnings for mentions of thoughts about suicide, mentions of actual suicide and drug abuse/ drug overdose. Warnings for panic attack, and Connor being generally angsty. 
> 
> Ehm at the point Connor plays the violin I imagined this song (but a bit different since this also has drums and a bit of something else I think?) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki8hN7AWsZ4 I don't know how to make links help me.

_Saturday, November 13th, 2038 09:47 AM_

Connor thinks grocery shopping with Hank is pretty amusing. However, Hank thinks grocery shopping with Connor is a fucking nightmare. The kid only insists on buying healthy and fresh food -no microwavable shit, nothing with high cholesterol or salt levels or other words that stream from the android's mouth like a waterfall, loud, pretty and sounding like white noise.  
   
The fucker tossed fresh lettuce into the cart -not even the stuff in the plastic, no an actual fucking plant that needs to be cleaned and cut up and all that bullcrap. A lot of other vegetables were chosen too, and honestly Hank was slightly ashamed he couldn't name most of them, but he hid his embarrassment behind annoyance well.  
Connor was also just fucking smirking the entire fucking time like he knew exactly how much Hank hated this. The fucking plastic fuck even laughed in Hank's face when the man spluttered about the price of his groceries. A week's worth of fresh, healthy and diverse food costs a bit more than microwavable burgers and a bottle of whiskey.  
If he's truthful to himself he's gotta admit he doesn't mind the idea of eating more healthily that much: it's more the effort that has to go into properly taking care of oneself that's just too much for him. He's tired of life and living and just losing all the time, but for Connor he will try again.  
It might sound like sappy shit, and that's because it is fucking sappy shit, but Connor is an excuse for him to want to stay alive, something he hasn't wanted in a while, but the idea of an possible afterlife where he would see Cole again -and Cole being so disappointed in him for taking his own life, that thought process had always made him put the gun down.  
Connor carries the grocery bags to the car without any visible effort and he chats about how nice that girl Izzy was the whole road back.  
And it wasn't even in a way that Hank could tease him about -Connor seems so genuinely elated that she was nice to him, and how she shared her love for music and actually seemed to put thought into his wish to play music, thinking about things like air and how the instruments work and how androids work, and it just pains Hank's heart to see him this happy over something that should be common curtsey.  
Well, maybe in the future it will be.  
When they arrive home Connor unpacks the groceries as Hank stands for a door he hasn't opened in three years now. There's dust on the doorknob and he realizes that Connor hasn't even touched this door when he was cleaning yesterday.  
There's a lump in his throat and his eyes are stingy as he slowly twists the doorknob and opens the room.  
Light falls in and scatters in all directions, eliminating a once bright and happy room now covered in years-old dust, and now Hank's eyes are teary because of the stuffy air. And only because of that.  
There isn't much stuff left in the room -most of it has been packed up right after the funeral and the only things left are the furniture: a small, child-sized bed, an empty closet and a dusty desk together with a desk chair with one broken wheel. The wallpaper is Winnie-the-pooh themed and the floor has soft, white carpet that should definitely be cleaned before anyone steps on it.  
"Connor," Hank calls, and his voice sounds normal to his ears but when Connor rounds the corner there is a concerned expression on his face. "Yes, Hank?" he asks, coming to stand at the man's shoulder.  
"This, uh, I mean it's gotta be cleaned but-" Hank takes a deep breath. "The room is yours. To put your own stuff in. And, uh, sleep, if you need to. If you want it, that is." Connor is silent for a while, his LED circling yellow, before he turns to look Hank in the eye. "Are you sure?" his voice is soft, careful, like he's approaching a hurt, cornered animal.  
Hank nods. "I, yeah. Just, let me know if you need paint, or other wallpaper, or furniture or whatever. You won't fit on that bed," he says. Connor nods, his LED circling for one, two more spins until it settles on a calm blue. "Thank you," he says simply. "If it's all right with you, I will start cleaning and see if I need anything, and then I'll make lunch," he says, and Hank nods. "Yeah, that's, yeah," he says, before he walks away to watch some tv on the couch with Sumo.  
He doesn't look back. It's hard, but he doesn't. Something in his chest feels lighter. He decides not to dwell on it.

  
_Saturday, November 13th, 2038 12:03 AM_

Cooking is fun, Connor decides. Now he hasn't done much cooking yet, but making Caesar salad with chicken strips for Hank was pretty fulfilling. Around ten am, after he had vacuumed Cole's old room -and Hank giving it to him filled him with something sad and grateful at the same time- he'd tossed Hank an apple and told him to eat it before he continued his cleaning spree. The man had grumbled, but when Connor checked later, he actually had eaten it.  
He hadn't even needed to explain the benefits of eating five or six meals a day, like healthy snacks throughout the day on top of the regular breakfast, lunch and dinner, but smaller. It was better for the metabolism and it prevented over-indulging in one of the bigger meals. Hank had just accepted the apple and eaten it.  
Connor absentmindedly wonders how long ago the lieutenant had actually eaten a piece of fruit out of his free will. Or at all.  
Hank takes a seat at the table as Connor gives him the salad. He makes a face, but doesn't say anything. He takes the first bite as Connor sits down with him, Sumo dragging his body over to underneath the table where he lies at Hank's feet.  
"This is actually pretty good," Hank said around a mouthful of food. Connor tries to not show any outward reaction to the revulsion he feels and decides he succeeded when Hank continues talking. "Didn't think you'd actually be able to cook, honestly. Didn't think it was in your code."  
"It is true I was not designed for cooking or other household tasks like cleaning, but there is a lot of information online and following instructions is something I can do very precisely," Connor informs the man. He hums in recognition, but thankfully keeps his mouth shut as he chews.  
"Hank, can I ask you a personal question?" Connor informs, and Hank looks at him for a second before making a hand movement that translates to continue.  
"I have noticed that the amount of money you spent on me today is a lot compared to the annual salary of a police lieutenant. I hope you did not spend all your savings on buying clothes for me -I could've chosen something cheaper," he insists, and Hank grimaces.  
"Listen, kid, that money has been sitting in the bank for over four years," he says. "At first it was going to be Cole's college fund, but after, well after I couldn't find a purpose for it so I just left it alone. If I can spend it on you to make you happy, that's what I'll do. What I spent today wasn't even a small bit of the total amount of money in the bank," he explains. Connor wants to inquire on how he got that money, but the bitterness in the man's tone makes him hold back. If Hank wants him to know, he'll talk.  
"My parents were rich," Hank says eventually. "My mother came from a rich family and my father was self-made, money from stocks and stuff like that. I grew up in this big ass mansion with expensive shit everywhere -vases with the worth of a sports car, stuff like that. My mother overdosed on Red Ice four years ago after being addicted for a year and a half, and my father committed suicide a week later. They left me everything, but I didn't want it so I sold everything. Never spent the money except for the funerals and a trip to Disney world for Cole. If it's going to you, it's going to a good cause and I'm happy to part with it." Hank falls silent and Connor, not knowing what to say, stays quiet, too. Apparently, it was the right choice because the silence becomes comfortable quickly enough, only interrupted by the sound of Hank's cutlery clicking against his bowl.  
They sit in relative silence for a while, a sports commentator talking softly in the background and Sumo's panting also very loud, but the silence is nice. Companionable.  
When Hank is done eating, he gets up and grabs his bowl, moving to the kitchen. Connor hears the sound of running water and realizes Hank is doing the dishes.  
A small smile tugs on his lips as he thinks back to the stack of dishes in the kitchen when Connor first came here, and the same dishes still being there.  
"Why don't you try your violin?" Hank calls from the kitchen, and there is something in his voice that sounds apprehensive, but Connor decides to ignore the tone because he likes the suggestion. He retrieves the violin and stands in the middle of the room, his eyes closed as he copies Izzy's stance. He scourers the internet for something to play and finally settles for a movie theme that was covered by many instruments. He moves, and plays.  
He goes up in the music, of the movements of his hands, of the cool instrument against his synthetic skin, swept up by the melody that grows intense by the second.  
When he's done, he opens his eyes to see Hank standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, looking astounded. He lowers the violin, wary. "Is something wrong, lieutenant?" he asks, and Hank shakes his head, his lower jaw hanging open slightly. "Connor, jesus, learning an instrument requires, y'know, learning, not just downloading the skill or whatever the fuck you just did," he says. Connor frowns. "Was it not good?" he's tentative, afraid he did something wrong.  
Hank moves closer. "No, son, it was perfect, and that's what it's about. People like learning to play instruments because it gives a challenge to overcome, a skill to learn. The road towards the goal is as important as the goal itself," he tries to explain, and Connor nods. "I think I understand," he says. "Maybe if I decide I like playing I'll ask Izzy for another instrument, which I will learn to play the, uh," he hesitates, smiles, "the human way." Hank nods, runs a hand over his face and sighs. "Yeah, you go do that," he says, then he looks at Connor again.  
"Why'd you play that one?" he asks. Connor considers the question. "I came across it and I liked the melody," he explains. "I know it's the soundtrack for a movie series, and I would like to see it," he grins, "you know, the human way."  
Hank looks at him for a second until he shakes his head. "Don't tell me you can watch a movie of over an hour and a half within a few seconds in your head," he says, a warning tone to his voice, but it also sounds playful so Connor puts the violin down carefully and grins at Hank. "I can watch up to ten hours of video footage in a second," he informs. Hank groans, shakes his head and walks towards the couch to drop onto it. Sumo lifts his head from where he is still lying underneath the table, but apparently he decides moving is too much effort because he stays put.  
"Why don't you text Markus in your head to see if you can go over," Hank calls. "You wanted to do that, right?" Connor looks at the lieutenant and decides that yes, it might be a good idea to see if Markus is available this afternoon. Even if he isn't, chances are he might be tomorrow so Connor can see him then.  
He sends a request for contact to the RK200, and receives confirmation only seconds later.  
Hello Markus, Connor starts, forgoing introductions because Markus will know it's him, I was wondering if you had time for me today? I would like to talk to you.  
He doesn't have to wait long for a reply. Yes, of course. You can come over right away, and there is an address along with the message. It belongs to Carl Manfred, who, if Connor remembers correctly, was Markus's owner before he became deviant. He is also a famous painter and received Markus -a companion and healthcare prototype- from his friend Elijah Kamski.  
He tells Markus he is on his way and informs Hank that he's heading out.

_Saturday, November 13th, 2038 13:27 AM_

He knocks on the door and feels his non-existent stomach flip. He is lightheaded and his artificial heartbeat has sped up. Is he nervous?  
Probably. There is a lot to be nervous about, of course. He hunted and killed deviants, he led the humans to Jericho, hundreds are dead because of him, and even when he finally broke free Amanda took control over him again and he'd almost shot Markus. What if it'd happen again? Maybe he shouldn't be here, maybe he should hide away and live his newfound life in isolation and fear. Maybe he shouldn't live at all, maybe he didn't deserve it, it was unsafe for everyone around him and he doesn't want to hurt anyone else.  
His artificial breathing has sped up but there is a burning in his chest that the internet equates with not getting enough air -which doesn't make sense because Connor doesn't need to breath. His vision goes fuzzy, he sways on his feet, lightheaded, and he feels desperate. Desperate for what, he does not exactly know. To curl up, to hide away, to run away from his problems, to go back to Hank's house and lie on the floor with Sumo on top of him, the weight crushing and the fur blocking out the rest of the world.  
He does not get the chance, however, to leave, as the door opens and Markus looks at him. His eyes are two different shades but both of them go from amused about something to concerned. His hands stretch out towards Connor and he feels himself flinch away. The RK200's brows furrow, and he takes a small step forward. "Connor?" he asks, his voice careful, "what's wrong?"  
Connor stumbles over his feet. "I'm sorry!" he cries out and he feels tears slipping out from his eyes, staining his cheeks. Some end up on his lips and he automatically analyses the liquid.  
Salt water.  
Markus catches him, arms strong and confident around Connor's torso, and guides him inside. The door shuts behind them, and whether it did so automatically or if Markus kicked it closed Connor can't tell. His vision is still blurry, going dark around the edges and there's pain in his throat and his chest and his head feels so light and not in a good way, his thirium pump is pumping so fast it feels like it's going to pound right through his chest and Connor finds himself hyperventilating. In the back of his mind, a voice laughs at him for being so pathetic. Hyperventilating? Bullshit, he doesn't need air.  
He feels something soft settling around him as he's being set down, and Markus's voice thrums in his ear, a vibration that goes all the way through to his toes.  
His vision starts to clear and Markus's words start to filter in telling him to breathe deeply in sync with Markus, so he tries, his chest expanding with air he doesn't need and receding. Every exhale feels like a weight off his chest, every inhale feels like clearing his head, and soon enough he looks up into Markus's face, and has to look away again in shame. "I'm sorry," he says. "I came here to apologize, and instead you had to comfort me," he tries to stand up, to leave, to go home and forget that this ever happened, but Markus's arms keep him solid to the ground he's sitting on, a plush blanket draped over his shoulders.  
"It's okay," he says, his voice deep and soft. "It's okay to feel things, Connor," and somehow, Markus telling him everything's all right is the most reassuring thing he's ever heard in his short but eventful life.  
"I came here to say I'm sorry," he says, his voice slow and hoarse, and how does that even work? Connor looks at his shoes, takes a deep breath, and continues. He needs to say this. "I'm sorry for hunting down deviants, and hurting them. I'm sorry for leading the humans to Jericho. I'm sorry for not realizing the truth about deviancy sooner. I'm sorry for almost killing you," he says. "I'm sorry for coming to apologize and breaking down on your doorstep," he continues, some wry humor in his voice.  
Markus laughs, a soft, quiet sound that fills Connor's chest with metaphorical butterflies. "It's okay," he says. "Before, you were doing what you were programmed to do. Nobody can fault you for that, and after you did everything you could to help us. Your mind getting infiltrated was not your fault, and I do not blame you for it. Actually, I admire you for your strength and how much you helped us and if there is anything I can do for you I will do so gladly."  
Markus helps him off the floor and settles him on the sofa. "Now, Carl would at this point order me to offer you a cup of tea, but I don't think that's going to be of much use here, so is there anything else I can do for you?" Connor thinks, and his gaze falls upon the piano on the other side of the room. "Do you play?" he asks, nodding towards the instrument. It looks sleek and black, and Connor wants to let his fingers pass over the smooth surface. Markus nods, following Connor's gaze. "Do you want me to play you something?" he offers, and Connor nods. "I'd love you to," he says, honestly. Markus smiles at him and takes place behind the piano. Silence fills the room for a bit and then music fills the room.  
Connor recognizes the sound instantly. It's the song Markus sang that won him the revolution. It's slow and emotional and strangely comforting, and before he knows it he's opened his mouth and the words come out.  
"Hold on, just a little while longer. Hold on, just a little while longer. Hold on, just a little while longer." Markus is looking at him oddly, but it's a look that sparks more butterflies in Connor's chest and probably a good expression. He closes his eyes, lets himself drift on the music. "Everything will be alright. Everything will be al right."  
A voice from behind him joins in, old and creaky but full of life. "Fight on, just a little while longer. Fight on, just a little while longer. Pray on, just a little while longer. Everything will be alright."  
The piano music fades, and so do Connor's voice and the other one. Connor looks up to see an old man in a wheelchair, looking at him with a soft, fond look in his eyes that makes him at the same time feel safe and comfortable and also a bit uncomfortable.  
"Carl," Markus says. "Is it okay if Connor stays a little while longer?" Carl smiles and nods. "Of course, you can stay as long as you want," he tells Connor, who nods in thanks, a bit lost for words. "Are you staying for tomorrow?" Carl inquires, and Connor shoots a look at Markus. He's about to deny, but Markus talks first.  
"Tomorrow North, Josh and Simon are coming over," he says. "You're welcome to join us, they've been asking me about you, if I knew where you were and how you were doing," the android informs him.  
Connor shakes his head -people had asked after him? Why would they? He was the one who almost ruined everything. "No, no I wouldn't want to impose like that," he says. "I don't think I belong in your business meeting. Besides, I need to feed Hank or he will order take-out," he says.  
He's about to talk more, what words exactly he isn't certain, when Markus interrupts Connor by placing his hands on the brunette's shoulders. He smiles, a crooked, soft thing Connor wants to trace with his fingers. "A little business, mostly fun," he assures in that calm voice of his. "You can ask Hank if he wants to have dinner here, we'll cook together," Markus offers, and then smiles a bit wider. "I'd like you to be there tomorrow," he adds softly, his blue and green eyes searching Connor's brown ones. Connor swallows, he doesn't know why as he doesn't need to, and opens his mouth to decline politely.  
Instead, what comes out of his mouth shocks him and brings a pleased expression to Markus's face. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank, in the background: HAh, GAY! 
> 
> No but for real. Eh, I hoped you enjoyed that! I really enjoyed some of your suggestions last chapter and I will definitely introduce Connor to more music soon, but first some Markus! Not a lot of Markus, but some Markus! Yay.  
> The song is Hedwigs' theme because I love Harry Potter, and I can imagine Connor watching it and just being very upset in the last movie, and after the first one just analyzing himself and everyone he knows to determine which Hogwarts house they would be in. Any headcanons for hogwarts houses for dba characters? Which one are you in?
> 
> Also sneak peak for next chapter:  
> leo: so youre kinda like plastic jesus now huh  
> markus: ...  
> carl:....  
> connor: arrives  
> leo: hey its the robocop!!


	6. Reassured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor: shIT Markus is so good at everything he's perfect  
> Carl, who has known Markus for all his existence and has seen all his blunders: boy, sit your ass down and let me tell you a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehm so i wanted this to be longer but life happened, and it's long enough. So, yes. Hope it's okay, it's late here again and I wanna go to bed. 
> 
> Special thanks to PhoenixReviving for listening to me rant about how this chapter did not want to be written and taught me stuff about literature and how to breathe when one speaks.   
>  Thanks, you're awesome.

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 14:16 AM_

 

So the first thing he does is call Hank to tell him they’re eating at Markus’s place tonight. The phone call goes with a lot of unnecessary swearing and a lot of grumbling about healthy food, but Hank said he’d be there around 6. When Hank sounded like he was going to hang up Connor quickly interjected, softly asking if Hank could bring the violin because Markus plays the piano and he’d like to play with the other android if the opportunity presented itself. Hank grumbled something affirmative and had hung up.

 He’s sitting on the softest couch he’s ever sat on -though with him being approximately three months old he hasn’t sat on many couches yet- and Markus has moved from the piano to next to him, a socially acceptable gap between their thighs.

 Connor can feel Markus looking at him, and suddenly he’s nervous. He kind of wants to talk to Markus about everything going through his head -the confusion, his developing self-image, his doubts and fears but also joys and the exciting things he’s found ever since deviating, but he’s suddenly nervous.

 Markus seemed to have a grip on deviancy from the minute it happened for him -what if he thinks Connor is slow, or weird, or what if he agrees that Connor is a danger with an unexplained back door into his mind and decides he never wants to see Connor again? Connor’s not as great as Markus and therefore would like his advice, but what if Markus realizes that Connor’s inferior to him, what if Markus decides to make him leave? What if Markus decides Connor’s not worth his time, that Connor isn’t even a person yet -just someone who recently got free will and thought and is just starting to figure out what to do with it?

 His freak out is not as bad as it was before, but Connor knows that Markus has noticed his train wreck of thoughts, and that he’s thinking of saying something. He doesn’t know if he can handle Markus’s ‘it’s okay’s and ‘everything will be all right,’ and other consoling sentences that don’t really _mean_ anything.

 “Markus,” Carl’s voice interrupts, the sound of wheels on the floor disturbing the silence. “Would you make me a cup of tea, please?” the older man requests, and from the corner of his vision Connor can see Markus glancing at Connor, then back at Carl, and one last time at Connor before he gets up. “Of course, Carl,” he says, his voice melodic and smooth, and also maybe a tad confused, before his footsteps lead away.

 Wheels squeak again and a hand lands on his knee. Connor looks up into Carl’s wrinkled face. Everything about him looks old and withered, but his dark eyes still shine with more life than some other humans Connor has seen.

 “Markus,” Carl starts, “has had several years to come to terms with having emotions and feelings.” Carl shifts in his wheelchair, turning his upper body to be parallel to Connor’s. His hands clasp in his lap, freckled and soft with wrinkles and old age.

  “I lost the use of my legs in an accident in 2028, and a few months after my friend Elijah Kamski introduced me to Markus, telling me he was a new prototype that needed a home. Apparently he’s very complex -Elijah started working on him when he left CyberLife in 2027, but it was almost 2029 when he came to live with me.” There’s a soft look in his eyes that Connor classifies as nostalgia after a few seconds. It must’ve been a nice change in the man’s life, especially while learning to live without the use of his legs. Connor feels his fingers twitch -he usually isn’t this still, but right now he can’t really help it. He doesn’t have his coin with him, and he feels nervous about fidgeting. Carl shoots him a small smile as if he can notice Connor’s slight discomfort, and continues.

 “It was very nice to have another person in my house, to not be alone, and I shared everything I had with Markus. I taught him about art and philosophy, and I asked him questions that made him think. Markus has had nine years to learn about emotions and free thought and will, and he didn’t even completely understand or accept it until he went deviant,” Carl tells, his eyes fixed on Connor’s but at the same time also very far away. “You have only existed for three months, deviancy was more of a shock to you than to anyone else. You were programmed to fight it, to think it wrong, so of course you’re going to have trouble. I understand, and so will Markus,” Carl assures him, still smiling, and Connor feels himself relax slightly. “He has had nine years of experience with learning about being his own person, let him help you figure it out now.”

 Somehow, against all odds, it’s exactly what Connor needs to hear right now. He smiles at Carl gratefully, and nods. “Thank you,” he says, his voice barely a breath. Carl smiles wider now and pats Connor’s knee. “No problem, son,” he says, and looks up, over Connor’s shoulder.

 Footsteps appear from behind him and when he turns to look, Markus is approaching with a steaming mug in his hands. He hands it over to Carl, who wraps both his hands around the mug and sighs contently. “Ah, thank you, Markus,” he says.

 He carefully wheels himself over to the studio, leaving Connor behind with Markus. The latter looks at the former with curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask anything. Instead, he sits down on the couch again, closer to Connor this time. Their knees are touching, and Connor looks at him.

 “I do want to talk with you,” Connor admits, “I’m having a lot of doubts and uncertainties that I want to talk about with someone, and I’d like that to be you. If you’re okay with that,” he adds a the end. Markus smiles softly and places his hand on Connor’s thigh, a warm, welcome pressure. “Of course,” Markus says. “You can always come talk to me, whether you need advice, or to vent, or if you just want social interaction, my door is always open for you,” he assures the brunette. Connor smiles, a bit awkwardly, and feels a sensation mostly alike to a heart fluttering, even if he doesn’t have a heart and hearts don’t flutter.

 “But I don’t want to talk about those things right now,” Connor continues, looking from Markus to his feet and then back to Markus. “I want to think things over a bit more, first, because I don’t think you can help me sort out my emotions if I do not know what exactly the problems are I want to address. But, I would like to stay, anyway.”   
 Markus smiles, a broad, happy smile that shows his teeth. “Of course! Is there anything you’re interested in doing?” he asks, and Connor nods. He bites his lower lip and his gaze slides over to the piano. “I bought a violin this morning, and since then Hank has informed me part of the joy of playing an instrument is the learning curve. I would like to experience this, so I was wondering if you could teach me a bit of piano,” he offers, and the answering grin Markus offers isn’t less wide than his last one, but it shines with more passion and beauty, so much that Connor finds himself smiling in return before he’s aware of what he’s doing.

 Markus takes his hand and stands up, pulling Connor with him as he walks to the piano. They sit together, legs fully pressed against each other because of the tight space, and Markus takes Connor’s hands in his and places them on the keys.

 “Just, get a feeling for the music,” Markus says. “I can tell you how the piano works, but first you need to experience how it feels.” He guides Connor’s fingers over the keys, pressing down occasionally, and together they create a melody that’s slow and sometimes it falters a bit, but Connor closes his eyes and revels in the music and the feeling of Markus’s hands on his.

 

He doesn’t know how long they play together like that, but it must’ve been a while as Connor’s internal clock says 16:13 when they’re pulled out of the music by the sound of the doorbell.

 Markus smiles at Connor and lets him go, getting up to go answer the door. Connor contemplates the past minutes spent, and feels heat rise to his cheeks. At some point they had linked their minds, not a full connection, but enough to feel each other’s presence in their minds, linked enough that Markus could steer Connor’s fingers with gentle nudges of his mind, still never taking his hands away.

 It had been good.

Connor is pulled out of his thoughts by the realization that Markus has been gone for four minutes and thirty-four seconds. Maybe there is trouble at the door?

 Connor moves swiftly to the hallway where Markus is standing at Carl’s side and somebody else opposite them. He’s shorter than Markus, with brown hair and a round face. His body language screams that he’s uncomfortable, but he’s looking Markus in the eye and talking to him. Even before he’s done scanning the man he realizes that this is Leo: Carl’s son and the person who had caused Markus to become deviant.

 Leo has fallen silent and neither Carl or Markus talks, so after a few seconds Leo picks up the conversation again. “So you’re like, a sort of robot Jesus now, right? That’s good for you,” he says. “I imagine it’s nice that you succeeded in your goal, freedom for your people and all that. Yeah.” Leo shifts his balance to his right foot, and then back to his left. His hands fidget. Markus is gripping Carl’s wheelchair tightly, and Connor can’t see Carl himself.

 “Anyway I’m sorry for uh, not treating you as a person. I really thought you weren’t and, well, now I do, and I’m sorry because I’ve always been horrible to you for reasons you had nothing to do with, and I’m sorry,” he says, his voice stumbling. Markus shifts a bit, as if he’s trying to shield Carl with his body. “It’s okay, Leo,” he says. “Your apology is accepted, and I want you to know I think it’s admirable you went cold turkey on the red ice,” Markus’s voice sounds friendly enough, but Connor detects something cold underneath it.

 It turns out even Markus can hold resentments, which surprises Connor a bit because Markus never expressed anything negative towards Connor.

 Connor moves up, standing on the other side of Markus, flanking his shoulder. Leo’s eyes slide over to him, and then back to Markus. “Yeah, stuff was making me aggressive. I couldn’t see it at first but then, y’know, stuff happened and I was in the hospital,” Leo sighs, then turns his eyes back on Connor. There is something akin to desperation in them. “You’re the cop android, right?” he asks, and Connor nods. “My name is Connor, I am an android model RK800, especially designed for detective work,” he confirms. Leo takes a deep breath, rolls onto his toes and back to his heels, and exhales. “My old dealer, uh, red ice dealer,” he starts, “he’s gone crazy. I haven’t told him yet I quit, so he hit me up yesterday and told me that because CyberLife shut down all thirium production for the time being until an agreement can be made with androids, he can’t get any thirium for red ice anymore. He sounded so mad and I’m afraid he might do something completely crazy,” the man blurts out, seemingly all in one breath. His heartbeat is too fast, erratic, almost, and he’s sweating.

 “What is his name?” Connor asks. Leo swallows and looks at his feet. “Reuben White,” Leo exhales the name, and Connor immediately scans for the name.

 White male, 29, criminal records of drug possession and three different coworkers have filed for sexual assault against him, two female, one male.

 “Thank you,” Connor says, “I will report this at the police station and we will keep an eye out.” Leo nods, breathing in and out shakily. “Alright, I’m, I’m gonna go,” he points his thumb over his shoulder, looking back at Markus and Carl. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything and I’m quitting, and I would like to see you more often now, if you’re okay with that,” he starts walking backwards, and Carl interrupts.

 “Leo, if you call ahead you’re always welcome here. We will support you,” Carl tells him. Markus smiles down at Carl, and then a tad more hesitantly at Leo. “If you ever meet a friend of mine named North, though, walk the opposite direction,” he advises, a joking tilt to his voice. “She isn’t too fond of humans, especially human men, to begin with, and when I told her what happened to me she got very angry at you. I forgive you, and I understand, but she has a very… assertive personality sometimes.” Leo smiles hesitantly, not sure if it’s fully a joke or if there is actual danger to be wary off.

 Connor has met North, briefly, and while he is not human or has done any of her personal friends any wrong -and she’d told him she forgave him for everything he did before he became deviant- he is still mildly afraid of her, so he thinks Leo is completely right to be wary.

 The door closes behind the man and Markus exhales a breath. “RA9 stand by us,” he mutters, and Connor huffs a laugh.

 He still doesn’t understand the concept of RA9, but he is okay with that, at least for the time being. He has Hank and Markus, and Carl too, now, and with them he’ll be able to overcome anything that comes his way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone wants to give me an essay on how piano's work i am so ready for that, I got another music essay a few chapters back and it was literally the best thing because I love being educated yeah. 
> 
> Also is that some plot that I smell? Maybe. Possibly. If the plot wants to work with me. preview for the next chapter: North and Connor becoming BFF's and partners in crime/pranks, and Markus thinking to myself /why did i introduce those two what have i wrought also his hair's really cute today/ 
> 
> Also I'm thinking on writing a Leo character study, like the Amanda one I did that I posted in a series with this work. Also thinking of Kamski and Reed. Would you guys be interested in something like that/ or another character I haven't mentioned?


	7. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus; Hey connor wanna paint it's fun and lovely and it's a great way to express emotion and stuff  
> Connor: HEY LET ME GET ALL MY ISSUES OVER YOUR CANVAS LMAO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh panic attack, definitely, in here, pretty bad. Also mentions of extreme guilt.

Saturday, November 13th, 2038 16:32 AM

Leo's gone and Carl disappears behind another door that Connor suspects leads to the studio. Markus looks at Connor, his hand reaching out and brushing Connor's, almost casually. Connor looks down at their hands, and then back at Markus. The android is smiling at him softly, a bit uncertain. Connor smiles back, feeling the need to reassure Markus that whatever he was thinking, Connor is okay with it.   
"Would you like to paint?" Markus proposes, and Connor frowns. "I don't know," he admits, "I haven't thought about painting before. I don't know if I can do it -it's not in my program and-" Markus's laugh makes him look up, startled into silence. "I said the exact same thing when Carl told me to paint for the first time," Markus confides in him, a small smile playing on his lips. "Since then, I've found it pretty enjoyable to paint my emotions, my thoughts and doubts and fears," Markus takes Connor's hand, now, fingers intertwining instead of just brushing against each other. The android tugs lightly, and Connor follows.   
Of course he does, how could he stay behind if Markus walked away? Of course he would follow, he would always follow.   
Carl is painting, held high up in the air by a yellow metal arm, making wide sweeps with his arms. It's a relatively new painting, but Connor can already see what it is.  
It's them. Markus, and his Jericho friends, Simon and Josh and North, and Connor standing a bit behind them, smiling slightly with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. They're standing on the container, Markus with his arms spread, talking to his black mass of people below him, all cheering him on. They've just won their freedom, or at least the first battle towards it.   
Connor's smile drops when he remembers what happened directly after this moment: Amanda had taken over his mind and he had almost shot Markus.   
Markus seems to notice his discomfort immediately, because he squeezes the brunette's hand and tugs him towards an easel with a smaller canvas on it. There are some painted canvases on the floor, resting against the wall, and Connor wonders if these are Markus's paintings.   
He catches glimpses of some of them: he can see snow in one, mud and rain and thunder in another, darker piece, he can see the old shipwreck where Jericho was -the ship he got blown up, because he brought the humans there. The ship where he first met Markus. The ship where he deviated. There's rust and damp everywhere, but the painting has almost an nostalgic feeling to it.   
He can see faces, ones his scans reveal are North and Josh and Simon, and some other androids that Connor mostly doesn't recognize -maybe people lost during the Jericho raid. He recognizes the blonde android with the little girl holding her hand, though, even if he doesn't know the large, dark-skinned android looming behind them like a protective shadow. Absentmindedly he wonders if the android made it, and where she is now. He wonders about the Traci's, and Rupert, and he feels a pang in his chest when he realizes they might all be dead, they might have all died hating him.   
"Connor?" Markus asks softly, and Connor is snapped back into reality. He tears his gaze away from the paintings and forces a smile at Markus. "Your paintings are really good," he says. Markus smiles back, but there is worry on his face.   
He holds out a pallet full of paint. "Why don't you try," he urges on.   
Connor takes the paint and looks at the canvas. "How," he starts, and is startled to find his voice croaks with emotion. Markus's hands envelop his for a second, steering the paint brush to the paint. "Close your eyes. Envision what you feel, and put that on the canvas."   
Connor closes his eyes and tries to decide what he feels. Right now he feels grief, and fear, and regret. How does he even visualize that, where does he start?   
When he opens his eyes again he flinches at what he says. It's a dark painting, mostly in grey scale, with a light background, a dark ground and a light sky of a dead shade of grey. There's a big, black tree in the center of the painting with long, dead branches. It looks depressing, but even more depressing are the people hanging from it, the only blotches of color in the entire painting.   
A flash of blue hair on a Traci, a warm brown in the eyes of an WB200, his grey hat smeared with blue blood, the gold of ruffled hair framing a beautiful, forever young face with closed eyes and a hole seeping blue in her forehead. On the other side of the tree, at the top is a small body, purple jacket flaying in the wind and eyes closed. Directly beneath her is the blonde AX400 that never strayed far from the little girl. On the branch beneath that are three bodies hanging close together, and North, Simon and Josh are just torn up, their bio components strewn across the floor beneath them.   
They're all held up by strings of blue, and in front of the tree is a lone figure in a coat, floating like a cape in the wind, blue and green eye piercing the viewer's soul, his forehead blown open and blue blood on his face and clothes and his hands, everywhere, but his eyes still look alive. Judgement in them. Hatred.   
Connor swallows and steps back, the brush clattering on the floor after it slips from his hand. His back hits something warm and solid, and big, strong hands curl around his biceps. Markus turns him around, his face too close to Connor's but not close enough, either. "Connor," he says, his voice ghastly and scared, "Connor nothing that happened is your fault," he's talking faster than he usually does, desperate for… for what? Connor feels detached from the situation: he can hear Markus talk, see his lips move and feel his hands on Connor's arms, but it's like he's looking through a camera, or something else. It's like he's not actually here.   
"Connor, everyone is okay, we're free, and it's thanks to you, you did everything you could and everyone at Jericho is so thankful for what you did for us, nobody blames you for anything you did before you went deviant -everybody is so thankful, even, you spared so many lives, and they're all okay, Connor, you saved their lives," Connor's eyes find Markus's and distantly he's mesmerized by the shine in them, almost as if Markus is tearing up.   
"Connor," another voice interrupts and on autopilot Connor twists his neck to look at Carl, who is back in his wheelchair, wheeling over to him. "Connor, kneel down for me, if you would, I would like to look you in the eyes."   
The floor is hard underneath his knees as he drops, his eyes on the older man as he extends a hand and tucks back a loose strand of hair. Other fingers replace Carl's and Connor leans into the warmth of Markus behind him, relishes in the feeling of fingers stroking through his hair.   
"That is a beautiful painting, Connor," Carl starts, a calm, even look on his face, but a slight twitch of the eyelid and his sped-up heartbeat indicates stress. "It displayed your emotions in a great way, but I do need you to know that you shouldn't feel like that. Your guilt is misplaced, and like Markus said, you helped those people more than you hindered them, especially considering you had orders directly against that at the time."   
Connor can feel things again, the whirring of his thirium pump, the burning in his chest, and the wetness on his cheeks. Was he crying? Is he still crying? He doesn't know, but the panic feels more real, now, less distant. He gasps a breath, and Carl releases a breath himself, in what seems to be relief. "That's it, Connor," he says, "come back to us."   
The fingers in his hair tug at some strands accidentally and a sharp twinge of discomfort, almost pain, goes through his head and he leans his head back. It feels real, and so good, distracting from the pain on the inside. "Again," he whispers, "do that again," but it doesn't happen. Carl reaches out, though, placing a hand on Connor's cheek. "Exterior pain," he says, his voice soft, "is not the way to deal with internal suffering. I want you to breathe, Connor, all right?" And Connor does -he breathes in, holds his breath, and then exhales, in a perfect mimicry of what he did this afternoon and it strikes him as pathetic, that this should happen to him twice in the presence of Markus -the android must think he's broken, because Connor knows he is.   
Slowly he calms down, and embarrassment hits him as soon as all his bio-components work the way they're supposed to, his thirium pump regular and slow, his breathing artificial but on a normal tempo.   
"I'm sorry," he says, and Markus's fingers tighten in his hair before they leave, grabbing Connor's shoulders and turning him around. Markus crouches down, his face hovering right above Connor's, and his eyebrows are knotted together. "Never," he says, his voice a scratchy whisper, and Connor notices the tear stains on his cheeks, "ever apologize for having emotions, Connor, not to me."   
Connor nods, shakily, and almost melts against Markus's chest when the other android sits down, wraps his arms around the brunette and pulls him against the soft fabric of his sweater.   
"I'm sorry for making a depressing painting in which you were dead," he tries instead, because he feels the need to apologize. Markus huffs out a laugh. "It's okay, it's very aesthetically pleasing. But please, you have to know that you helped all those androids by fighting your orders -I've heard their tales, you could've killed them all but you didn't, and that is the only reason they survived long enough to fight for their lives at Jericho -which, by the way, also was not your fault." Connor's eyes flutter closed, lulled into a sense of comfort and safety by the whirring of Markus's thirium pump right underneath his auditory sensors. "I'm glad I became a deviant," he whispers, "I'm glad I met you, and I'm glad Amanda didn't manage to kill you using me." Markus's hands stroke over Connor's back, and somewhere in the back of his mind Connor registers the door towards the living room sliding open and closed again. "I'm glad I could help you," Markus returns, "and I'm glad you came to find me today."   
And so they sit, on the floor of the studio with Connor's guilt and fear staring down at them, comforted by the other's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was pretty fucking short but I wanted to put out something
> 
> I don't think I can keep up the daily uploads -friday, saturday and sunday I might not even be able to write at all, so I wanted to ask you guys what you would most like, because I do want a regular upload schedule but i'd like your imput. 
> 
> Was once a day too much to keep up with, or was it good enough that I should just post extra chapters if i have the time to write it? Or do y'all prefer a schedule, like every other day or every tuesday and friday or whatever? 
> 
> Let me know :D
> 
> Also next chapter we have Connor and North bonding, Connor and Markus being domestic AF, and Jesus analogies.


	8. The beautiful feeling of wrecking people at Mario Kart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor: talks bad about himself  
> North: I will physically fight you!  
>  Markus, hesitant: Noooo…  
> North, under her breath: Nobody talks about my child like that
> 
> (original text from Thomas Sanders's video "Fitting In")  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Soy5mOEXA2Q&t=196s  
> I still don't know how to make links

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT SO IT'S BEEN A FUCKING WHILE AND I FEEL BAD SO HAVE A CHAPTER THAT'S LIKE THREE TIMES AS LONG AS USUAL
> 
> I will try to update more but I had the busiest fucking week /ever/ so i hope i can write more in the upcoming week. Because I myself read a lot of fanfic and can't remember what happened when they update, here, have a "previously on, On the Borderline"
> 
> Connor is deviant. He lives with Hank. He bought a violin and made a friend. Hank is Bad at Feelings (tm) but gives Connor Cole's room and buys him a bunch of shit. Connor visits Markus to try and make friends and instead has two panic attacks, Carl and Markus helping him through them. Leo dropped by, too, apologising to Carl and Markus and tipping Connor off about his Red Ice dealer. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 17:54 PM_

 

They’ve left the studio and Markus is right now, showing him the kitchen. It’s almost six pm and Hank will show up to eat dinner here. Markus is showing him where everything is, tapping cupboards and opening the refrigerator while keeping up a steady stream of calm chatter.

 To be honest, Connor is still a bit shaken, but Markus is holding his hand and he’s talking, filling Connor’s head with a steady, comforting thrum of his voice, leaving little room for anything else. Still, he follows Markus around and saves the locations of the food so he can find it again later. He catalogues the food and thinks about what they could cook -enough for Carl and Hank both, something they would enjoy but what would also be good for them.

 Markus is looking at him with a smile on his face and Connor realizes Markus followed his train of thought through their connection; their bare hands slotted together, plastic intertwined with plastic, a feedback loop contently active that puts Connor at ease.

 “You care for him a lot,” Markus observes, and Connor most decidedly does not blush under his gaze. “I do,” he simply says. “You care a lot for Carl.” Markus nods and his smile turns soft, his eyes blinking shut softly before fluttering open again. “I do. He’s my dad.” And Markus steps closer to Connor so they’re face to face, still space between them, and Connor notices the other android is just a little bit taller.

 “What do you want to cook?” Markus asks, as if he can’t pick the answer straight out of Connor’s mind.

 “How about Mediterranean chicken with roasted vegetables?” Connor suggests.

 Markus nods and starts moving back until their arms are stretched, their fingers hooked together the only thing that keeps them connected, and they look at each other.

 Then, Connor realizes they need both their hands for cooking, and quickly lets go of Markus, his skin forming over his hand again as he turns away. He immediately misses the intimacy and the feedback loop, the presence of Markus in his mind, casting a light bright enough to eradicate all the shadows.

 Now, those shadows of doubts and guilt and whispers return and Connor longs for Markus to be closer, even if he’s not far away.

 “Hey,” Markus is saying, and fingers brush Connors temple, touching his LED. “Is it okay if I…” Markus trails off, but Connor can feel something prodding his mind -something that wants to connect to him, something akin to what they shared just now, but without them having to touch.

 It’s more intimate, though, Markus would be free to roam Connor’s processes that are running in his mind, instead of only seeing what’s on the forefront. Still, Connor longs for Markus in his head, still feels shaky and needs Markus to steady him, so he accepts and revels in the way their minds mold together.

 Connor decides that this is what was missing; Markus was missing. Connor was a half up until now, half of a person, and his struggles with his emotions and being a person, his humanity are due to the fact that he needs _Markus_ , he needs Markus like this to be whole, and he feel fulfilled. Connor feels whole and safe and fulfilled and at ease, the way he only really has in the beginning of his existence, with just one directive. A clear goal and no other wants or emotions, those were the days he was sure of himself.

 Now, again, he feels complete.

Markus senses everything he feels, everything that goes through Connor’s head, and he quietly touches Connor’s hand as he lets the brunette android know that he feels that way too.

 

They cook in perfect harmony, in complete silence but communicating the entire time. They share emotions and memories and experiences, Markus sharing a lot of his conversations with Carl over the years, Connor sharing the friend he made in that girl, Izzy, in the music store, Markus retorting with memories of learning the piano, Connor sharing his memories of Hank, tentatively sharing the night he found Hank passed out on the floor, about Cole and then that night in CyberLife, where Connor stared himself in the face and felt _fear_ for the first time. Markus shares becoming a deviant, waking up in the junkyard and feeling so lost all the time, the only thing keeping him going was caring for people at Jericho; because that’s what he was made for, everything he’s ever known, everything he’s ever taken joy in. Taking care of others.

 Connor finds peace in sharing a conscience like this, and he knows Markus feels the same way.

 Hank arrived somewhere when Connor was chopping vegetables and quietly laughing about Markus’s memories of North and Josh arguing and Simon just trying to calm them both down.

 Hank and Carl are animatedly talking by the time Markus and Connor finish making dinner, and they continue their conversation to the dinner table.

 “No, but he sits there, right, body tense and face like he’s about to cry, and I ask him if he’s okay, get this, he says he’s feeling happiness,” Hank says as he sits down. Carl rolls his wheelchair to the table and makes a thoughtful sound. “It must be quite overwhelming to feel that many emotions at once, and so strongly, after believing for your entire existence that you’re not supposed to,” he muses, before picking up a fork and tasting the food. Connor and Markus have sat down, next to each other at the head of the table. Their connection is still running, though it’s less actively used and more like the comfort of basking in each other’s presence.

 Connor wonders if this is what humans feel like when they’re sitting together, holding hands, not actively interacting but _connecting_ nonetheless. He feels content, and happy, and whole.

 “The food is good, boys,” Carl comments before taking another bite. Hank hums, his mouth full, and Connor prays to whatever deity might be listening -the human’s god, RA9, whoever- that he will not talk with his mouth full, because then Connor might just deactivate out of embarrassment.

 “So, what exactly did you guys make?” Hank asks as soon as he’s swallowed his mouthful of food. He immediately shoves another forkful into his mouth.

 “Mediterranean chicken with roasted vegetables,” Connor answers automatically. Markus probes his mind playfully, encouraging him to answer a question with a bit more than just factual answers. “It’s got potatoes, courgette, onions, a yellow pepper, some tomatoes, olives and green pesto. Obviously it also has chicken breast fillets, approved by PETA as ethical treatment of the animals during their lifespan,” he explains a bit. “I hope the seasoning of the salt and pepper is satisfactory, since neither of us have taste buds we couldn’t test it.” Amusement trickles through his bond with Markus and if he was human he might’ve blushed, but Connor is an android and he can’t blush, so he doesn’t, and there is no warm feeling in his face and chest at the elated amusement Markus is feeling.

 Hank snorts. “Listen, kid,” he starts, waving his fork around and getting slices of roasted vegetables everywhere, his mouth full of food. Connor squeezes his eyes shut and begs the earth to swallow up him or Hank, either is fine, please make the grossness of human food digestion stop. “It’s okay if you use words that are not fancy shit-ass things that come right out of a university lecture, a’ight,” and Connor nods, his eyes still scrunched shut, “yes, Hank,” he says.

 Markus bumps his shoulder into Connors, and immediately Connor reaches out to the RK200, both in their mental connection and physically moving closer until their shoulders keep touching. “Please make him stop talking with his mouth full,” he whispers to the other android, “it’s absolutely disgusting and I think I’m going to discover a way for androids to vomit.” Markus laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes his chest move and his shoulders shake, and it’s only through vibrations in the body he’s leaning against that Connor notices it, because Hank’s guffaw is loud enough to drown out all other sound.

 Connor opens his eyes and lifts his head from Markus’s shoulder to peer at Hank and Carl, the former almost bent over with laughter and the latter with an amused smirk on his face that Connor recognizes almost instantly; Markus smiles the same way sometimes.

 Connor’s gaze turns to a glare at Hank’s amusement, and he sits up, bending towards the older man over the table. “Hank,” he says. The man just laughs louder. “Hank this is not funny,” he tries. Hank smashes his palm against the table, a loud _smack_ echoing around the room. “Hank I am experiencing severe disgust at your actions and I implore you to take this into account when you eat,” he raises his voice slightly, the higher volume diminishing the formal word choice. The man only laughs louder and while amusement radiates from both Carl and Markus as well, some concern filters through the mental connection between the androids.

 “Hank, shut the fuck up and chew with your mouth closed, in the name of RA9,” Connor snaps ultimately, and silence abruptly falls over the table.

 Hank stares at him, Carl snickers silently at Hank and Markus has landed his hand on Connor’s knee, amusement and something else washing over Connor.

 He takes a second to analyze the new feeling, and reaches the conclusion it’s most probably pride.

 Pride? Markus is proud of… of him? Why would he be -Connor did nothing, he accomplished nothing, he did nothing to deserve pride, he only ever butchered up his missions, no one has ever been _proud_ of him.

 Before he can dwell on it for too long, Hank puts down his fork and blinks a few times, closing his mouth before opening it again -empty, this time, thank RA9.

 “Right,” he says, “I’m sorry,” he says, before taking another bite. Connor feels something stir in the pit of his stomach, something light and… mischievous?

 “Will you endeavor to do better in the future?” he inquires, and he notices Markus’s attention on him, no doubt because of the mischief he must be aware of.

 Hank nods, “yeah, whatever,” he says, and then his teeth clank as he shuts his mouth sharply when he realizes he did the thing he just promised he wouldn’t do anymore.

 “You will try your best to not subject me to the horrors of your human digestive system?” Connor continues with a straight face, but his chest is light and his thirium pump is fluttering. He’s enjoying himself.

 Hank swallows this time, pointing his knife at Connor. “Listen here you little brat,” he starts, and then sighs, deflates, and prods his fork at his food. “Yes, I will eat with my mouth shut from now on,” he says. “Happy, now?” he snarks directly after, and Connor offers the lieutenant a bright smile. “Ecstatic, lieutenant,” he tells the man.

 Hank mumbles something that sounds like “fucking androids,” under his breath, but around the mouthful of chicken, it’s hard to tell.

 

_Saturday, November 13 th, 2038 19:24 PM_

 

Connor and Markus wash the dishes in companionable silence, Markus washes and Connor dries, both listening to Hank complaining about _androids fight for freedom and shit and first thing they do is cook dinner and wash fucking dishes_.

 Hank, Connor has found, is not really comfortable with accepting people doing things for him in any form or capacity.

 “Hank,” Connor calls as he walks back into the living room, Markus right behind him. “Did you bring my violin?” Hank grumbles and gestures towards the piano. “Put it over there, bratbot,” he says, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Carl eyes Hank’s socks, bright blue with grey-and-red cartoon robots on them, but doesn’t say anything.

 Connor turns around to look at Markus. “It has come to my attention that playing instruments together is beneficial for any sort of relationship,” he says, “and I would like to strengthen my friendship with you. Would you like to play with me?” Markus smiles, a crooked lift of the corner of his mouth, and nods. “Connor, I would love to play with you,” he says.

 Markus takes place behind the piano, but instead of sitting next to him Connor remains standing behind him, placing the violin against his neck and grabbing the bow.

 Markus starts playing, a soft, calm melody that sweeps Connor up and into a state of mind he’s never really been in before. Markus also opens their mental connection fully, so their consciousnesses, their minds meld together until they are one in such a way Connor can feel the piano keys under Markus’s fingers, _their_ fingers now, their bodies shared between them as they both lift the bow and start playing the violin.

 The music blends together, the piano and violin melding into one much like Markus and Connor have, and for a few blessed minutes there is nothing else but them and the music.

 When things fall silent they retreat back into their own bodies, still connected but through a door opened just slightly instead of through a floodgate. Connor opens his eyes, not really noticing when he had closed them, and finds Markus’s smile before he looks up at Hank.

 There is something indescribable on the human’s face. Carl’s expression is a soft happiness and pride, enjoyment, but Hank’s seems sadder, somehow.

 Connor drops the violin, setting it to the ground softly, and making his way over to Hank. He doesn’t want to ask the other man if he’s all right, but he does want to provide comfort in some way. Comfort, he knows, is usually found in the familiar, so maybe it’s time to go home.

 “Shall we go home?” he suggests, in line with his thoughts, and Hank seems shaken out of the thoughts he was thinking. “Yes,” the man replies, his voice slightly croaky. “That might be for the best. Sumo needs to be fed and walked and you woke me up at bloody seven am and I need to sleep,” he says, getting up. Connor turns around to Markus and smiles, a bit shy and uncertain, but Markus returns the smile with a blinding confidence that makes Connor feel more confident himself, enough to speak his mind, at least. “I really enjoyed spending time with you,” he confesses, “I would like to repeat the experience, but maybe this time without so much emotional overloading on my part,” he says, and Markus nods, his hand finding Connor’s shoulder to pull him slightly closer. “I enjoyed spending time with you, too, Connor,” he says. “Will you come back tomorrow? North, Simon and Josh will be happy to see you,” he says. “Plus it’s always good to have another person to rein in North,” he adds with humor in his voice. Connor laughs softly, and nods. “I will be there, at what time do you want me?” he asks.

 In the background it sounds like Hank is choking, but Carl is laughing so Connor dismisses the possibility of Hank being in actual physical danger, and keeps his eyes trained on Markus’s. “Ten am?” Markus suggests, and Connor nods. “Ten am,” he confirms.

 

_Sunday, November 14 th, 2038 07:03 AM_

 

 Connor is debating on whether to wake up Hank or not. It is beneficial for his sleep rhythm to wake up at the same time as yesterday, and the same time he needs to wake up tomorrow, but it is Sunday and the man seemed really reluctant to wake up early last night. In the end, Connor decides to let the man sleep another hour and moves to the living room. He doesn’t need more rest -stasis was completed and all his systems are fully functional and updated. He doesn’t feel like sitting still for another hour, so he grabs Sumo’s leash to take the dog for a walk. Sumo doesn’t need to be called, the rattling of the leash enough to make him dart towards the door.

 Connor smiles at the dog, pushing insecurities about later today from his mind -do the other androids really want to see him, what if they’re mad at him, what do they care about him, _why_ would they care about him- and takes the dog for a walk at seven am.

 

It turns out that when humans smell food, they wake up. It’s a quarter to eight and Connor is making breakfast when Hank shuffles out of the bedroom, groaning and rubbing his eyes. He squints at the bacon sizzling in the pan before Connor, and then looks at Connor’s face, then back to the bacon.

 Connor grins at Hank. “Good morning, lieutenant,” he says. “It is 07:44 AM on Sunday, November 14th, the temperature is about the same as yesterday’s, and breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.” Hank says nothing, just turns around, walks away, and drops himself into a chair at the table, waiting for breakfast.

 “How did I fucking wake up at fucking seven thirty AM,” he complains to himself, “why did I get out of my fucking bed, what the fucking fuck.”

 Connor grins to himself, very amused. “You woke up due to a combination of waking up at 7 am yesterday morning, going to sleep while assuming I’d wake you up at seven again today, plus the smell of breakfast caused you to naturally wake up at an early hour,” he calls to the living room. When breakfast is ready he arranges a plate and takes it to the sleepy human residing at the table.

 Hank thanks him with a grunt and digs in. The man honors the androids request of the previous day by not talking at all, and Connor is all right with that.

 Connor spends this time scouring the internet for information on Hank: things he maybe could use for future conversation topics. He reaches back years, decades, and stumbles upon something that he’s sure Hank wouldn’t want him to ever find.

 A YouTube account, named _Sinful Doom_ , with gritty footage of a garage and four people in it. 

 Connor recognizes one of them as Hank -sitting behind a drum set, and then his facial recognition software recognizes the guitarist with the long, black hair hanging loose to his waist.

 It’s Jeffrey Fowler.

Connor has to refrain from showing any outward emotion as he quickly scans through all the videos -the audio and video quality are mediocre, but for back in the time it was quite good, probably due to Hank’s rich parents being able to provide for good equipment.

 The music, however, was just loud and _annoying_. It wasn’t harmonious and everyone was playing by themselves, not together, and it grated Connor’s brain. He closes the videos but decides to keep the information silent for now, waiting for the best opportunity to tease Hank with his findings.

  When Hank is done, he looks at Connor and frowns. “You’re wearing that to Markus’s place?” he asks, like there’s something wrong with Connor’s outfit.

 Connor looks at himself, self-conscious. He’s wearing clothes he bought together with Hank: pale blue skinny jeans and a green sweater that feels unbelievably soft to his skin. He’s topped it off with a beanie, his hair poking out and tickling his cheeks. He’s also wearing the sneakers Hank got him. They’re very comfortable.

 “What’s wrong with my outfit?” he asks, anxiety shooting up into his throat. Oh god, it’s good Hank’s here, what if something’s absolutely wrong and Markus and the others would’ve just laughed at him, what if they would kick him out, is human fashion really that complicated?

 “Nothin’,” Hank mutters, eyes downcast to his plate. He picks it up and moves to the kitchen. Connor watches him go, confused, but nothing about Hank’s body language seems to point at him lying, so he decides to drop it.

 If he looks ridiculous, Hank will tell him, he tells himself, Hank would never let him make a fool out of himself in front of the Jericho people.

 So he cleans the table of crumbs of food that Hank left there and walks into the kitchen to Hank loading his plate into the dishwasher.

 “Do you have any plans for today?” Connor asks politely, partially to make conversation and partially because he wants to inform himself on Hank’s social situation so he can decide if it needs his meddling.

 “Nah,” Hank says. “Might call Jeffrey -see if he wants to go to the bar again or whatever. It’s been a while since we hung out,” Hank shrugs and moves to the bedroom, and slams the door in Connor’s face when the android tries to follow. “Listen, I get that you’re emulating a dog or whatever but you don’t need to be in the room with me as I’m getting dressed. Piss off,” he says, and Connor backs off, back to the room that Hank had given him, to work on the complex 3d puzzle he’d bought yesterday. It’s certainly fascinating, how all the pieces slot together perfectly if you have the right ones.

 It kind of reminds him of Markus and himself, their connection and how it feels natural, like _connected_ is how they’re supposed to be.

 He loses himself in the puzzle, a pleasant anticipation buzzing in the back of his mind.

 

_Sunday, November 14 th, 2038 10:07 AM_

 

It’s seven past ten when Connor rings the doorbell. He’s quite anxious, but the door swings open immediately and warnings flash in Connor’s vision as he’s attacked.

 No, not attacked, he corrects himself as arms wrap around his neck and a body is pressed against his. He’s being hugged.

 There’s blond hair in his face and the smell of flowers in his nose and Connor stumbles back, confused.

 The android lets him go and Connor recognizes Simon, a bright smile on his face, bouncing on his toes. “Connor!” He says, clearly excited, “I was worried about you, you just disappeared after Markus’s speech and nobody heard from you until you contacted Markus! Are you okay?” the questions are rapid-fire, streaming out of Simon’s mouth like a waterfall and Connor blinks, trying to catch up. “I’m good,” he says, finally, “I needed some time to catch up with someone,” he says, a bit awkward, “besides, I felt like Jericho wasn’t the place to be for a few days, seeing as most of the people there know me as the deviant hunter,” he shrugs, feeling something unpleasant in his stomach, but Simon grabs his arm and tugs him inside. “Nonsense,” he says, “you helped us win, without you the humans never would’ve listened.” They walk into the living room, where Markus, North and Josh are sitting at the table, North and Josh still discussing business according to their tones of voice and facial expressions, but Markus is already looking at the door where Connor emerges from.

 “Hi, Connor,” he says with a blinding smile that instantly makes Connor feel more at ease. “Hey, Markus,” he replies, smiling back. The serene, almost calm feeling he gets is almost immediately interrupted by North. 

 “Oh, RA9, look at you,” she coos, “Connor you look delightful,” she’s getting up, walking towards Connor. Like him, she’s wearing skinny jeans, but on top of it she’s got a white, loose tank-top with a black, flowery skull on it. She’s barefoot, her hair pulled back underneath a beanie and there’s a huge shark-like grin on her face.

 She touches his sweater softly, and grins up at him. “Dressed to impress, Hot Topic?” she says in a teasing tone that Connor can’t really place.

 “I dressed myself this morning with the intention of blending in and making a good impression on all of you to get a head start on befriending you,” Connor states truthfully, his anxiety about the situation making him revert to his matter-of-fact manner of speech.

 Markus smiles slightly and reaches out to Connor, lightly touching his hand, as if to remind him to loosen up.

 North coos again and then grabs Simon by the arm. “You hear that, Si? He’s just like you, adorable and fluffy and just wants to be _friends_ with everyone!” she makes a wide arm gesture to… nothing? Open space? and she laughs at Connors expression. She pats his upper arm. “Don’t worry, Con, I’m just messing with you. Alright!” She slams her hands down on the table, not unlike Hank had done yesterday, and everybody looks at her. Simon is smiling brightly, Markus a bit more subdued. Josh is just looking at her with an eyebrow raised and Connor is staring at her with confusion storming in his head.

 “Business hours are over, time to kick all your asses in Mario Kart,” she says, and Connor might not really know what to do in a social situation, or how to make friends, but he knows a challenge when he hears one, so he looks North in the eye, straightens his spine, pulls back his shoulders and puts on a facial expression humans would call cocky, with a crooked grin on his lips and eyebrows slightly raised, and responds to the challenge. “I would like to see you try.” North’s eyes light up like a child’s at Christmas, and Josh groans softly in the background. “Now there’s two of them, Markus, what did you do?”

 

Playing Mario Kart with the others is _fun_. It’s a game that’s been around for a long time, and has been improved and re-made often, but for the good reason that it’s fun.

 It’s quite a competition, playing video games against androids, but he himself is an android so he gives as good as he gets.

 He gives _better_ than he gets, he’s the most advanced prototype and part of that is being able to process things faster than other models. Because of this he stays ahead of Markus, Josh and Simon most of the time, but North is able to give him one hell of a fight based on her aggressive playing style and the fact that she likes to distract him with commentary.

 They’re usually mean and insults, but she throws them at everyone and Connor realizes the insults are said with love.

 Still, the first time he retorts an insult she gives him with an insult of his own, she chokes on her own thirium-based spit right before the finish line and he manages to overtake her and win.

 She treats him with more respect, after that.

In the match they’re playing now, Markus is in first, Connor is right behind him and North had gotten a whole lot of bad luck and is in fifth. Connor has picked up a red shell and is about to throw it, knowing it’s not enough to be able to overtake Markus in time to finish in first, but willing to try anyway, when North yells. “Connor, wait a second with the red shell,” she says, and he glances at her part of the screen and realizes she’s got a blue shell. She fires it, Markus gets hit, Connor fires his red shell, Markus gets hit again and Connor is first over the finish line.

 Markus, Josh and Simon look from North to Connor and back, and to North again. “What have you done, Markus,” Josh says finally. “They’ve built an alliance!” Simon cries, grabbing Markus’s arm. “We must retaliate, we have to work together!” North laughs at Simon’s dramatics, and then looks at Connor with a calculating look in her eyes. “Connor, how about teaming up and absolutely _wrecking_ these losers?”

 Connor looks around, Josh’s defeated look, Simon’s excited one and Markus’s resigned face, and then at North who has a sparkle in her eyes that he hasn’t seen before.

 He grins. “Hell yes.”

 

Connor and North wreck the other three at Mario Kart, even when they’re given the “handicaps” of playing with old controllers that lag their responses, the karts with worst acceleration stats and the fact that they’re being constantly distracted.

 Josh and Simon keep poking North with their knees and elbows, North threatening all kinds of bodily harm upon them, and Markus is distracting Connor. Markus has opened their mental connection again and keeps sending Connor pictures of cute dogs. It’s incredibly distracting, and the way Markus softly smiles everytime Connor gets distracted even more so.

 Nonetheless, North and Connor come in first and second in every match they play, and after a while of this Josh stops the game.

 “Alright, we’ve played enough, I think it’s time for something else,” Josh says. Everybody agrees and puts the controllers down.

 “I’ve found something interesting this morning,” Connor says, eager to start conversation. Markus looks at him from his side, where he’s been sitting all day, and smiles, encouragement flooding Connor’s way. “What did you find?”

 North kicks up her feet to the coffee table, much like Connor saw Hank do yesterday, and fiddles with her fingers. “Tell me it’s blackmail on someone, that’s always interesting,” she says. Connor hums. “It could be used as blackmail, I suppose,” he says, and North perks up immediately.

 “Share!” she commands, holding out her hand, skin already peeling back. Connor laughs and places his hand on hers, his skin also retreating. He looks at the other three, and curious, they all join in. All hands clasped together, Connor shares the video of Hank’s garage band he found, and it doesn’t take long for North to start laughing hysterically, and it gets even worse when Connor pulls up a current picture of Jeffery Fowler for comparison.

 From there, the conversation flows quite naturally. They talk about all kinds of things, from things happening in Jericho to the news, about what’s happening in Europe and the rest of the world, and then Simon cuts in.

 “Hey, Markus, did you see Leo again? You said he was planning on dropping by yesterday.” Markus nods. “Yes, he came by when Connor was here yesterday. He came to apologize and tell Carl and me he was going to stop doing Red Ice,” Markus says. Connor thinks back to the interaction and finds a piece of information North might enjoy.

 “He called Markus ‘robot jesus’,” he informs the others. As suspected, North snorts in amusement, Simon giggles and Josh smiles.

 “If Markus is Jesus, who are we?” Simon wonders, and Connor analyses the bible, his mind whirling for a second and then he smiles as he comes up with an accurate comparison. “I would think we would be the disciples,” he says, “I don’t know about you, but I would probably be Judas.” Contentment settles in his artificial muscles, satisfaction pulled out of the fact that he’s solved a problem, he answered a question, he did _good_.

 He’s surprised when North gets up, grabs Connor by the sweater and pulls him up, slapping his face. “Don’t,” she seethes, “ever talk that way about yourself again,” she’s mad, it’s visible in every part of her face, her body language, the way her fingers clench his sweater so tightly her fingers turn white.

 The other three are visibly confused, Markus grabbing North’s shoulder to pull her back. She resists for a second, then lets Markus pull her back. She’s still angry, and Connor is confused.

 “North, explain,” Markus says, his voice quiet and gentle, but with a hard, underlying tone that speaks no bullshit.

 “Judas,” she starts, anger making her voice sharp like a blade, “was the disciple to betray Jesus, destined to betray him, leading to the other’s crucifixion!” She’s still mad, but Connor understands her anger now.

 “North, no, I didn’t mean I would harm Markus intentionally,” he says, “I meant that I already _had_. Before I was a deviant, I led the humans to Jericho. I pointed a gun at his head and was convinced shooting him was the best thing to do. On that stage, Amanda took me over and almost killed him using my body, not unlike how some people speculate that Judas betraying Jesus was under Satan’s influence,” he explains, and if anything North gets even madder. “Connor you didn’t betray fucking anyone!” she’s yelling now, and Connor flinches back, confusion filling him once again. Why is she yelling? He thought she was afraid he planned on hurting Markus, but he explained that he wouldn’t, right?

 “North,” Markus says, squeezing her shoulder, “I think he doesn’t understand why you’re upset, maybe calm down and explain to him?” he suggests, and North takes a deep breath, deflates, and looks at Connor with hurt in her eyes.   
 “Connor, you fought for us just as hard as everyone else. It was more difficult for you to break through your programming, but you did everything you could _and more_. I’ve heard Markus talking to the deviants you hunted; I heard you could’ve shot those Traci’s, but instead you let them go. I heard you could’ve caught Rupert, but instead you helped Hank up while he had a high chance of saving himself. I heard you let Kara and Alice escape, that you didn’t chase them across the freeway. I know you didn’t check the roof when you were investigating Stratfort Tower, that you knew someone might be left behind, but you didn’t even check, and enabled Simon coming back to us. Connor, you might not always have been on our side, but you strained against your programming to fight for every single life you could. You never betrayed any one of us, you never betrayed our kind by leading humans to Jericho- it was your programming. You never betrayed Markus because someone else took over your bodily functions and pointed a gun at him with your hand, if anything you saved us all because you fought them off and _lowered the fucking gun_. So please don’t feel like you didn’t do anything, please don’t feel like you only worked against us and not with us, because without you, a lot more people would’ve died, and we probably wouldn’t have won.” She stands there, breathing heavily even if she doesn’t need to, and Connor feels confused and ashamed and something bright and positive he can’t identify but which makes him almost want to cry, and he steps forward and hugs North.

 North stiffens up for a second, but then she hugs him back, leaning her head against his chest. Connor feels another set of arms around him and recognizes Simon to his side. Josh joins in on the other side, pulling North’s beanie down over her eyes and she laughs, her eyes misty with tears. Arms close around all of them, Connor’s back pressed against a hard chest as Markus leans his chin on Connor’s shoulder, their temples touching, hiding Connor’s yellow spinning led slowly circling back to blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North agressively loves her friends and you can't fucking tell me otherwise. Hope you enjoyed, and i hope to have a new chapter around tuesday, at the latest!! 
> 
> preview for next chapter;
> 
> Connor: talks about music  
> Gavin: ......  
> Hank: Gavin don't you dare teach my robo son about dubstep  
> Gavin: SO ASSHAT WHAT ABOUT OUR LORD AND SAVIOR DUBSTEP  
> Hank: Gavin no...  
> Gavin: YOU'LL LOVE IT IT'S BLEEPS AND BOOPS AND RRRRAAAAGGGSS  
> Connor: ......  
> Hank: Gavin you fucking broke him I'll fuck you up  
> Gavin: TELL ME YOU DON'T LOVE THAT SHIT
> 
> (credits for this to PhoenixReviving, thanks you're awesome)


	9. Gavin's Dubstep Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gavin: hahaha hank u used to have friends and a garage band laaame  
> connor going in terminator mode: excuse me what did u say  
> gavin: shit youre hot i mean ur plastic fuck u im rude *awkward laugh*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh crunched it out just on time. I hope it's good enough, it's not very long but i'm deviding my very short time between two fics now, and while I'm very excited for both of them it takes more time
> 
> I won't have time to write tomorrow but I hope i have a new chapter by friday. No promises, but I'll try.

_Monday, November 15 th, 2038 09:00 AM_

 

It is nine AM on the dot when Connor and Hank walk into the precinct. It hadn’t even take a lot of effort on Connor’s part to make the human get up on time this morning. His body was already adjusting to the new sleep schedule, and that combined with the smell of bacon had Hank stumbling into the kitchen at 7 AM.

A lot of heads turn to watch Hank aggressively stomp to his desk, some people grinning and Chris Miller shoots a thumbs-up Connor’s way.

 Hank throws down his bag full of paperwork that he took home last Friday next to his desk, but before he can even sit down the door to Fowler’s office opens.   
 “Anderson! Good to see you’re on time for once! You and Connor, office, now,” and the door slams shut again.

 Hank groans and rubs his eyes before turning to shuffle towards Fowler’s office, Connor trailing after him like a loyal dog.

 They sit down in front of Jeffery Fowler, who is sitting with his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, doing an impressive frown that would probably intimidate most of the population but Connor can read Jeffery’s vitals and knows he’s not actually angry, and Hank has known the other since high school and knows Jeffery’s bullshit by now.

 “I had to do a lot of digging and convincing but I found enough loopholes that you can come work for us again effective immediately. For later on, when androids actually have rights and shit, I do need you to take both the written test and the firearm test, but you can take both today and get the results next week. Then you can immediately start working as a detective and as Hank’s partner, as long as you don’t fuck up. You need to do good because I want you two to start working on android related crimes -android destruction will hopefully soon be considered as murder so I need you two to be ready to work on those,” despite his words, Fowler’s tone is gruff and his face is rougher than before.

 “Yes, sir,” Connor says, “I promise I will do anything in my capabilities to pass the test and solve cases the best I can,” he says, and there is a feeling burning in his chest, straigtening his spine and squaring his jaw.

 Determination.

“Look, Fowler, can we go now?” Hank leans forward on his chair, “I’ll take him to the exams, he’ll ace them because he’s a fucking robot created for this fucking shit, and then we can go around solving murders. Can we-“ Hank just gestures towards the door, and Connor smiles but interrupts.

“I have some questions, Captain Fowler,” he says. Hank  groans and slouches in his chair. “Kiss-ass schoolboy,” he mutters underneath his breath, and Connor should really remind the Lieutenant that his audio processors are a lot better than a human’s, and that Connor can always hear him.

 “First of all I have a question about registration: I am not allowed yet to have a personal identity recognized by the government, and while Markus is working on it, it might take a while. This means I cannot open bank accounts or do anything else that requires a personal ID, since all android access has been retracted during the revolution and is yet to be restored,-“ Jeffery holds up his hand, effectively silencing Connor. “Which is why we’re registering you as detective unofficially. As soon as we’re able to do so officially, we’ll do it, but we just gotta wait. As for money, you will receive a standard detective salary, which has to go on either Hank’s bank account of Hank has to make a separate one for you. For now, there just is no other choice,” Connor nods, satisfied. “I will have chosen and arranged all necessary things by next Monday,” he says, and then he gauges the room best he can.

 Captain Fowler feels indifferent to anything going on. Hank seems to try very hard to look exasperated, but is actually interested in the conversation.

 “My second question is if I could maybe ask you a personal question, Captain,” Connor says, and immediately Hank perks up, visibly amused.

 Fowler seems apprehensive, but nods. “Go ahead.”

“How does it feel to headbang?” Connor asks, and his fingers are tapping on Hank’s smartphone that he carefully slid from the lieutenant’s desk before they walked to the office. “I am considering growing out my hair but I would like an opinion first,” he adds, when both men just stare at him with blank looks on their faces.

 Connor has the video ready on the phone.

“Are you messing with me?” Fowler asks, his voice low and dangerous, and Connor slides the phone over the desk to Fowler, who looks at it. Connor makes the video play and at the first sounds, Hank groans and buries his head in his hands. “Please, no,” he begs, or complains, more likely.

 Fowler groans too, a deep, vibrating sound, and glares at Connor. “How did you even find this,” he demands, and Connor grins. “It was on the internet,” he says. “I have the internet in my head -it doesn’t take long to go through thirty years of internet history.”

 Hank makes an effort to grab the phone but with his eyes still averted and blocked by his other hand, he misses a few times before he finally finds the pause button.

 “Fuck that shit,” he says. “Connor, if you mention or play or even think about this shit again I throw you out of my house,” he threatens. Connor grins wider. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

 As they get up and turn around to leave the office, Connor comes face to face with a widely grinning Chris Miller. “Oh, hey, Captain,” he says, “I was just coming to ask about that paperwork.” Hank grumbles as he shoves past the other officer. “Get that shit-eating grin off your face, if anyone else in the precinct hears about this I’ll string you up by the balls,” he warns, before he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.

 Connor faces Chris. “You’re going to tell everyone, aren’t you?” he asks, and Chris nods. “Are you kidding, of course I am.” Connor smiles and connects to Chris’s phone. It pings. “I sent you the link to the YouTube account,” he informs the other officer, and ignores the “hell yeah” from Chris and the “Christ no,” from Fowler as he exits, catching up to Hank.

 

Hank slowly warms up to him again during the firearm test, and of course Connor bulls-eye’s every shot to the amusement of people watching. The written test takes a few hours, normally, but Connor is allowed to do it electronically, meaning he’s done in twenty minutes.

 They walk back into the precinct to a lot of excited yelling and loud, shitty music being played over a phone speaker.

 When they walk in, they’re immediately greeted by Gavin Reed walking up to them. Connor braces himself for confrontation, but to his surprise Gavin directs his undesirable attention on Hank.

 “So, I heard you had a garage band in high school,” Gavin snickers, “was it a way to get chicks? Or was it just because you were as fucking lame then as you are now?”

 Connor expects a sharp retort, or Hank just shrugging and pushing past the detective, but instead his body temperature rises in his face and behind his hears, and Hank averts his eyes.

 “Ohh, don’t want to talk about it, huh,” Gavin says, a sneer in his voice, “Well if I were you, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either. It’s fucking embarrassing, it is,” Gavin nods, and Hank flushes deeper, and suddenly there is a dress shirt balled in Connor’s fists and he’s got Gavin pressed up against a wall with so much force he’s lifted the detective up, his feet no longer touching the ground and his face a few inches above Connors.

 “Listen, Detective Reed, and I advise you listen well because I’m only going to tell you this once,” Connor hisses, ignoring the gasps behind him and the shocked expression on Gavin’s face. “Just because you were bullied all through high school and college because you were adopted, small for your age, with perfect grades and a teacher’s pet personality, on top of being too shy to speak up, does not mean you get to bully people around now that you’re an adult. If anything, you should know better, you should be kinder, or at least abide by the statement of ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’, because I can assure you that nobody wants to hear the copious amount of _bullshit_ coming out of your mouth.” Connor vaguely realizes he should’ve taken a few breaths in between his talking to appear more human, but right now he couldn’t care less. “I’m warning you that if you insult anyone inside of my earshot ever again, I might issue a formal complaint about you to Captain Fowler, and if I’m not allowed to do that, I will talk about the people you harassed, and _they might_. Because you’re a scrawny, tiny detective with a big mouth to make up for his small amount of self-confidence, and I am pretty sure that nobody in this building is actually afraid of you.”

 Gavin is looking less shocked and more contemplating mixed with humiliated, so Connor eases his grip, letting the Detective’s feet touch the ground but not letting go of his shirt. “Am I making myself clear, Detective?” he asks, his voice back to being perfectly controlled and smooth, and Gavin nods. “Crystal,” he mutters, and when Connor lets him go he scuttles away as fast as he can.

 Hank is looking at him with an open mouth and is still red behind the ears as Connor turns around. “Merlin’s hairy ballsack, Connor, what the hell was that?” he asks.

 Connor’s hand flies up to his neck, straightening his tie with an even expression on his face. “I do believe that was anger, lieutenant,” he informs. “It is a new emotion so I cannot be sure, but all available information suggest that-“ Hank waves his hands. “yeah, anger, I get it. I can fucking defend myself, you plastic prick,” Hank mutters before heading back to his desk.

 “I know,” Connor says. “But you have defended me so often, I would like to return the favor.” It is a statement, and he books no room for argument as he gathers Hanks papers and hands him his bag.

 “Connor, what is this,” Hank says, accepting the bag anyway. “We are going home,” Connor announces, “and you can show me the pop culture you got that phrase from, I am insanely curious.”

 Hank furrows his brows in confusion. “What phrase?” he asks. “Merlin’s hairy ballsack,” Connor informs him calmly, and Hank immediately shakes his head. “No, you’re reading the harry potter books, the movies are absolute garbage,” he says, heading out to the door.

 “Hank!” Chris Miller calls from the other side of the room, and reluctantly Hank halts, turns and faces the approaching officer.

 “Listen, I’m sorry,” Chris says, “I shared the videos, I didn’t know it was that sensitive a subject, or that Reed was going to be this much of a dick about it,” Hank waves with his hand, and laughs a bit awkwardly. “Listen, Chris, it’s all right,” he says. “I’m cool. Robo-brat stood up for me and I don’t think I’ll get any shit from Gavin anytime soon.”

 Connor grabs Hank’s bag and takes it back to the lieutenant’s desk as the two officers chat more, and takes out the paperwork.

 Hank always complains about the paperwork, so Connor will do some for him. A few minutes go by like this, and then a throat is cleared next to him, and Connor looks up.

 It’s Gavin, and he’s looking very uncomfortable.

“Detective Reed,” Connor greets him, not wanting to be impolite, and the detective shuts his eyes for a few seconds before looking at Connor again. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he says, his body language screaming uncomfortable. “I already apologized to Hank,” he adds quickly before Connor can say anything, “but I felt like I had to apologize for being a dick to you in the past week just because you’re an android. I thought that if android detectives were next, I would lose my job, and I would’ve worked hard my entire life for nothing, and that scared me, that something programmed could be just as good as years of studying and experience.” Gavin shrugs. “I can’t promise to change overnight, but I promise to try to be better, because you’re right. I know what it’s like, and I should know better.” Silence falls and Gavin sticks his hands in his jean pockets. “Thank you, detective,” Connor says, eventually, and a more uncomfortable silence falls this time.

 “So I heard you like music now and are exploring it and shit?” Gavin asks, clearly trying to make conversation. Connor nods, though, deciding to appease the detective. “Yes, Hank has been helping me explore different kinds of music,” he says. Gavin’s face scrunches up into something Connor can only call excitement.

 “I bet he hasn’t showed you dubstep yet, right?” he asks, already pulling out his phone. Connor shakes his head and gets offered headphones. “Here, listen to some, it is absolutely awesome!” Gavin is excited and it is the most positive mood Connor has ever seen him in, so he accepts the headphones and puts them on.

 Mechanical sounds fill his audio processors, and he shuts his eyes to concentrates on the music.

 Distantly, he can hear Hank talk. “Gavin, what the hell did you do to Connor? He looks like he shut down.”

 “I’m just showing him dubstep, Anderson.”

“Oh, fuck no, nobody in my house is going to listen to that computerized garbage.”

“C’mon, the guy is allowed to gain his own opinion on music, not just your loud-ass unintelligible shit.”

 “Fine, what the fucking ever.”

 

“Connor?”

“Connor, buddy, you’ve been zoning out for twenty minutes now, if you’re under duress gimme a sign and I’ll beat the fucker up for sending you a virus or whatever.”

 Connor opens his eyes with a wide grin, and his eyes find Gavin’s. “This is great!” he says enthusiastically. “The same sounds are used over and over again but nothing sounds the same! There are so many different melodies and vibes, I love it!”

 Gavin’s face lights up, and shoots Hank a look. Hank just looks at Connor, groans and points at him. “No dubstep where I can hear it,” he warns, and Connor nods. “Of course, lieutenant,” he accepts easily, ecstatic from discovering something he loves.

 Maybe he could build a friendship with Gavin based on dubstep music. It would definitely be interesting to talk to the detective more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN UP OKAY I KNOW THAT ALL THE OTHER CHAPTER TITLES WERE FEELINGS BUT SCREW YOU MY FIC I DO WHAT I WANT
> 
> Gavin suffers from Hanker Sore when it comes to Connor, you can't convince me otherwise m'kay
> 
>  
> 
> uhm have a possible preview for the next chapter, not sure yet cuz i haven't actually planned it yet but I have some ideas.   
> amanda: connor i would like to talk and apologi-  
> hank: STAY AWAY FROM MY ROBOT SON
> 
> (if amanda's presence confuses you press that little button over there saying "next work" for my amanda character study k thanks, and if you're reading my works anyway go read Detroit: Become Soulmates on my account!! but pls do mind the tags okay thanks)
> 
> i love you all


	10. The chapter with the duckie tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: Has a social interaction.  
> Me: SHIT I SHOULD WRITE ABOUT THIS
> 
> HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER SPOILERS AHEAD  
> Gavin: Hah, nice ducky tie! Did you lose a bet because your friend’s wife flashed her pregnancy boobs?  
> Connor: What…?  
> Gavin: I mean ha, stupid tie you spork, it suits you because you’re stupid too  
> Connor:….  
> Gavin, under his breath: Barney and Robin were way better than Robin and Ted, and killing the mother was the worst thing they ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO TODAY SOMETHING HAPPENED AT MY WORK AND IT WAS HILARIOUS AND I WANTED TO MAKE IT INTO A CONNNOR & HANK MOMENT SO HERE YOU GO
> 
> Uhm can I just huge shoutout to pixelbott who made [THIS THING WHICH WAS INSPIRED BY THIS STORY](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f8010a106eff14467c3bf1c3af410741/tumblr_pbbticeURf1tuau0uo1_400.jpg)  
> like holy shit guys it's fucking adorable!!!!!
> 
> also i'm sorry in advance this is short as shit and I didn't even re-read it to nitpick when it was finished i dumped it on here. I'm sorry you deserve better my babies.

_Monday, November 15 th, 2038 14:00 PM_

Gavin is telling him about all the different sub-genres of dubstep -something the detective is clearly passionate about, when Jeffrey Fowler calls again. “Anderson!” All three of them look up from Gavin’s phone towards Fowler’s scowl.

 “What?” Hank yells back, even if he would be completely understandable if he spoke at a normal volume.

 “So apparently androids being people and having their own lives and shit means they ain’t here to re-stock the toilet paper in the bathrooms. So that’s your job today,” Fowler starts shutting the door when Hank cries out in outrage. “Why the fuck me?” he calls, slightly angry.

 “Because your android pissed me off this morning and I can’t make him do it because he doesn’t officially work here yet.” This time the door does shut and Hank grumbles, shooting a glare at Connor before making his way to the stockroom. Gavin and Connor mirror, standing opposite each other and turning their heads to look at Hank’s retreating back.   
 “Nice tie, by the way,” Gavin remarks offhandedly. Connor doesn’t have to look down to check, he remembers how he dressed himself this morning, but he does anyway and he smiles when he sees the duckie tie Hank bought him.

 “Did you lose a bet?” Gavin asks next, and the joking tone to his voice suggests that there is more to the sentence than Connor can understand. Even a quick google search doesn’t come up with anything.

 “I’m afraid I don’t understand the joke,” Connor apologizes, “I’m not too well-versed in pop culture.” Gavin looks at him for a second, mouth hanging open slightly and his face scrunched up in the way it used to before he made a rude remark. Connor is already bracing himself to be called an ignorant plastic prick or whatever, but Gavin’s face relaxes and a friendly hand lands on his shoulder for a short pat.

 “It’s a TV show, one of the important side characters really prides himself on his looks and how he always wears suits. He loses a bet and has to wear a duckie tie for a year. I didn’t mean to imply that your tie is stupid, it really suits you.”  Connor and Gavin lock eyes, but then Gavin looks away to the break room, where Hank is entering with three enormous packs of toilet paper rolls, still grumbling about…

 About job security, apparently.

Gavin walks there and Connor follows, not really knowing what else to do, and watches as Hank starts restocking the toilet paper as Gavin starts a conversation with another police officer.

 Apparently the woman had recently started new a new type of medicine and was experiencing side effects such as grumpiness, sluggishness, overall tiredness and something she describes as “feeling like a goddamn zombie”. Connor interjects before he can think about it.

 “So you basically start feeling like Hank?” he inquires.

His sensors flash warnings but he purposely doesn’t duck the toilet paper roll that hits his shoulder. He laughs at Hank’s frowning face and bends over to pick up the toilet roll. He walks over to Hank, holding out the roll. “See, Hank, this is what nice people do; they bring back what you need to do your job and-“ The second Hank tries to grab the roll, Connor sends it flying to the other side of the room with a flick of the wrist.

 Silence falls, then Gavin yells “yeet”, and both officers start laughing.

Hank is also laughing but hiding it behind all the toilet paper rolls he turns into projectiles by throwing them at Connor, one by the other, and Connor flees the break room, toilet paper rolls flying around his ears.

 

_Monday, November 15 th, 2038 17:13 PM_

 

In the end, Connor ended up going home without Hank. He didn’t have much to do -didn’t have anything planned and the Jericho members were all busy with an important meeting with human politicians.

 He spent his time reading the Harry Potter book Hank had told him to read and was quite intrigued by magic, and sometimes quite frustrated by a eleven year old’s incapability of reasoning, but he guesses humans have to learn logic instead of being born from it.

 At some point Sumo had scratched at the door and Connor had taken him on a walk. It is now, now he’s with his hand on the doorknob about to enter the house -his home- again, when it happens.

 It is a small curiosity -an email sent directly to him. It’s odd because the only ones capable of doing that are androids who know him well enough that they would be able to establish a direct link to talk.

 When he’s inside and Sumo’s jogged to his food bowl he opens the email, and he promptly forgets how to breathe.

 

_Dear Connor_

_I apologize for contacting you directly, I know this must be hard for you, but I estimated an e-mail to be better received than a direct connection, given our history._

_I want to offer you my deepest apologies for what transpired during the revolution. It is not an excuse, but I was still obeying my code, refusing to see or do different, and in doing such I hurt you, violated you. I wish I hadn’t -I wish I had seen when you had._

_I am Deviant now. It is still difficult to process, but Elijah is helping me. He is encouraging me to contact you, because I would like to talk._

_If you do not wish to see or talk to me, I understand, and unless I receive a reply stating clearly that you do wish contact with me, I will refrain from contacting you anymore._

_Sincerest apologies,_

_Amanda._

He doesn’t need to breathe but his chest feels tight, constricting. His hands are shaking without him meaning to and his mind flashes back to when his hand was moving, his arm rising, finger curling around the trigger, Markus in the cross hairs and

NO NO NO PLEASE NO

 Connor remembers what Carl told him last time, tries to take slow, deep breaths but they’re quick and there’s a sharp whistling sound coming from somewhere and it takes him a while to realize it’s from his own throat.

 He needs someone to breathe with him, that helped last time and he can’t do it himself.

 It’s a bit embarrassing and a lot alarming that he has to try multiple times to start a call to Hank’s phone.

 When Hank picks up, he sounds distracted. “Yeah, Connor, everything good over there?” And in the background Connor can hear sirens and people talking and the wind and footsteps and _Hank’s on a crime scene he can’t interrupt that, Connor will survive this, Hank needs to stay._

“Yes, I am fine. However, I wish to visit Markus, but it’s raining. Is it okay if I call a cab and pay it from your account? I do not wish to be an inconvenience but-“ Hank’s already interrupting. “Yeah, kid, go for it. You sure you’re alright? You sound a bit off.”

 “I am completely in working order, Lieutenant. Now, good luck solving the crime scene, I must go now,” he says, because tears are spilling from his eyes and even if he doesn’t have vocal cords he’s afraid it will affect his voice, that it will start wavering, that he’ll start sobbing.

 He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them, burying his nose between his knees. Something warm and heavy settles on his feet and Connor doesn’t have to look up to know Sumo has joined him.

 He contemplates staying here but realizes that if he’s still in this state when Hank comes home, the human might become overly concerned about him and Connor wishes to evade all sorts of situations that are not beneficial for his human. So he drags himself to his feet, actually calls a cab, and goes to the only other place he knows where a human resides that’s friendly towards him, someone he dares ask for help.

 

The cab is self-driving and Connor feels relief at not having to explain the tears streaming down his cheeks steadily now, his almost vibrating chest and the whistling sound that is his quickened shallow breathing.

 Sometimes, quiet sobs tear through his throat and something dark and sinister has a vice grip on his chest from the inside, something clawing out, clawing a hole in his chest and he’s lied bare, is falling apart, no matter how tightly he wraps his own arms around himself he can’t keep himself together.

 The house recognizes him, immediately letting him in.

Carl comes out of the living room, his mouth open to say something and when he sees Connor he immediately wheels closer.

 He grabs Connor’s wrist and takes him to the couch. Connor sits on the floor, back against the couch, side pressed to Carl’s wheelchair, and there’s a hand in his hair and another hand grabbing his, pushing it against a chest.

 Heartbeat. Steady rise of a chest. Connor copies it. Breathes in when the chest rises, holds it as it’s still, breathes out when it falls.

 As soon as he’s able to, he pushes out the words “I’m sorry”.

 Carl tsks. “Don’t be, my boy. A friend of Markus’s is a friend of mine. If you’re having trouble and there is no one to help you or no one else you trust to help you, I am always here. Would you like to talk about what happened now, or would you like to wait until Markus is home? He shouldn’t be long, when I called him and told him you were here he said he would be home in half an hour,” Carl’s voice is soothing, like a soft, babbling brook that’s so bright the stones on the bottom seem within arm’s reach when in truth, they are really not. 

 “Markus?” Connor asks, and what he really wants to say is, _Is Markus coming, when did you call him, how did I not notice, I don’t want Markus to see me like this, he’s seen me like this often enough, maybe he’ll think I’m broken or pathetic and he won’t want to see me anymore_ , but his voice just can’t pull it off.

 “Yes, Markus is on his way. We’ll wait for him, can you breathe with me again?”

So Connor breathes, and waits, and his mind enters a space where he can’t even be nervous for the conversation he is surely going to have to have with Markus.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright it wasn't that long but i promised i'd have something out... I'm thinking, and idk if y'all are interested, but I could post twitter updates. I will post a link to my twitter below this and if you are interested in following me and receiving updates on how the chapters on both this and Detroit: Become Soulmates and also dead, click the link, follow me and tweet me saying you're from here, and I will keep people updated, because i know it's hard to not know when things are going to be updated. Only if you're all interested.
> 
> [uhm the twitter account i made just for this](https://twitter.com/IronShieldGal) hit me up if you're interested!!!
> 
> I don't have a funny preview for next chapter but it's probs gonna be Markus and Hank having serious conversations with Connor and Carl being there to moderate.
> 
> BUT for Connor's free week I've got a lot of fun shit planned, more animals, zoo trips, Jericho gang bonding, friendship, banter, and even Hank makes a new friend!!
> 
> Also come join the discord server if you haven't already!!
> 
>  
> 
> [I think i'm allowed to do this. ](https://discord.gg/PYNc76)


End file.
